Play it Again, Mister Crowley
by The Skye Skye
Summary: In order to save Dean in his moment of peril, Sam makes an unusual deal with the King of Hell.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One...

Castiel gently ran his fingers along Dean's cheek, shaking his head as he took in the state of the other man. Dean was ill, in a way that was just beyond Castiel's comprehension. He was pale, weak with fever and dehydration. His veins were showing through his intensifying translucent skin, and the blood pumped black with a poison that pulsed through his veins.

Only hours before, Dean had been at his strongest, but one bite from a vamp with a weird infection had him crumbling. Dean's skin shimmered with a coating of beads of sweat, though its chilling effects brought no relief to his fever-stricken body. Dean tossed his head back and forth on the pillow beneath his head, giving a tiny forlorn wail of discomfort. This was the man he'd given everything up for, and now - Castiel being hopelessly powerless to help him - he felt his heart breaking.

Bobby stood behind Castiel, who was seated in a chair beside the bed Dean occupied in the panic room. His eyes moved from Dean's pain-stricken face to Castiel's tense shoulders riddled with worry.

"There's nothin' in any of my research about vampers gittin' sick... Or even passin' it on to humans... But I think it's safe to say... We best just... Make Dean comfortable..." Bobby said softly, hating to have to be the one to deliver this news. Dean was like a son to him, and it made him sick to his stomach to see him like this.

Dean's body was shaking and wracked with pain, going in and out of consciousness. The end didn't seem close, but it certainly didn't look far off; Castiel swallowed uneasily and closed his eyes, nodding. He rubbed the back of his neck and then wiped his hand over his face. He hadn't moved from Dean's side since they'd come back from the hunt, and he didn't intend to take his eyes off Dean for even one second.

"Yes, I... I will make sure he is comfortable." Castiel's gruff voice was strained with sorrow and suffering unlike any Bobby had ever heard from the angel. He adjusted his hat nervously, and then reached out, giving Castiel's shoulder a squeeze. Castiel tensed and cringed a little at the would-be-comforting action, causing Bobby to feel even worse than he had before.

Bobby sighed and pulled his hand back, glancing to the open doorway of the panic room where Sam stood, leaning in the frame with his arms folded across his chest. Sam's eyes were dark, his face, however, was expressionless. He couldn't feel the grief the others did, or the overwhelming sadness. And as much as that scared Bobby, he didn't let it get the better of him. He simply watched as the soulless shell of Sam heaved a sigh of his own and turned away from the sight, walking back up the stairs.

"Leave us..." Castiel said quietly, his shoulders going slack as he watched Dean work through another fit of pain into stillness.

Bobby grit his teeth and nodded, leaving Castiel and Dean alone for the time being. He figured it best that he just let Castiel be there for Dean.

Castiel knew Dean in ways that no one else did, loving Dean far beyond what anyone else was capable of. He leaned over Dean's bed, his lips pressing gently to his forehead as he pet Dean's sweat-dampened hair. Dean's throat bobbed with a hard swallow and his glassy eyes slowly forced themselves open as he came back to consciousness. He looked up at Castiel; his chapped lips parted with a struggling breath. For a moment, eyes rolled back into Dean's head as Castiel tilted his head, leaning closer as he noticed Dean was trying to speak. He paid close attention intently as his eyes searched Dean's face with a hope that he could possibly pull through.

"Cas... Cas,... I-I-I need... water..." Dean barely choked out a whisper, his dry tongue sticking to his teeth and the roof of his mouth as he tried to speak.

Castiel nodded quickly, his hand moving immediately to grab one of the bottles of water from the floor beside his chair. After opening the bottle, he carefully slipped his entire hand under Dean's head, cradling it in his palm in a way that conveyed how precious Dean was to him. Dean parted his lips and drank. Castiel poured the water slowly into his mouth, letting Dean consume as much as he could before sudden pains stabbed his gut, making him cough and sputter for Castiel to stop. The water spilled from his mouth out onto his chin and shirt; the fluid was tinged pink and black, causing Castiel to weaken in spirit. His bright eyes were downcast as he pulled the bottle backward. His face was stricken with fear and his throat constricted as he fought back a floodgate of emotions at the sight of blood spilling from the corner of Dean's mouth. Each black spiderweb-like vein showing on Dean's skin was pulsing more than it had been five minutes before.

Castiel would have to be a fool to not see it, and - for a moment - he wished he was a fool so he could keep on believing that Dean could beat this. The infection was taking hold of everything Dean had left, and squeezing the life from his body like water from a sponge. Castiel's eyes were growing misty as he watched Dean take a few deep, shaky breaths. Dean dissolved into a fit of coughing, allowing more poisoned blood to slip out of his mouth onto his lips. Castiel did his best not to let his resolve break; he ignored the very human needs he had to cry, to scream, to run away. He moved the pad of his thumb over Dean's mouth and wiped away the blood, smudging it off the skin onto his pants.

"Dean..." Castiel's voice was heavy with pain for the other man, the sweetest sort of sadness lighting his eyes. The way the single syllable fell off his tongue and rolled into the air spoke of everything the two had been through together. And "everything" was meant from the moment Castiel's hand had wrapped around Dean's arm, dragging him up from the pit, to this moment passing between them right now.

Dean managed to crack a small smile, having wondered when he'd finally be unable to outrun Death. Had he known that he would die slowly and painfully in front of one of the few people he ever really cared about, he'd have just... Dean's thoughts trailed off as he furrowed his brows, looking at Castiel. Just what...? He was weak. There was no way he would have intentionally chosen to leave all of this behind... "I never... wanted you... to see me die..." Dean panted as he used what little strength he had to turn his palm upward and reach out for Castiel.

Castiel's fingers slid around Dean's hand, all ten of them closing in a warm and comforting grip around Dean's own. He shook his head at Dean, tears that had been waiting in the wings slipped out onto the main stage, and downward to the floor below. Dean had always been crazy enough to think that Castiel wouldn't see his final moments. Dean couldn't hide anything from him; he'd never be able to.

Castiel had forgotten to breathe for a moment and took a sudden shuddering breath. "Don't talk... You need to save your energy..." Castiel chided lightly, his eyes moving from the floor to Dean's face as he squeezed Dean's hand gently.

Dean let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head right back at the fallen angel. It was obvious that Castiel didn't want to act like he'd given up hope, but Dean knew the other man better than that. He knew that Castiel was an extremely honest and realistic person who had just barely managed to learn when it might be a good time to lie, and he wasn't very good at lying when he did. His beautiful blue eyes betrayed his heart's true feelings every time.

"For what...? I'm dying, Cas... Just... Lemme get this out while I can..." he rasped firmly as his eyes slipped shut again and his brows furrowed. For Castiel's sake, he had to be strong now. He took in a long, shaky breath, and then, opening his eyes once more, he looked to Castiel. "I'll always... think of you... Cas... As the one... You saved my ass so many times..."

Castiel lowered his head, shuddering with a weak sob. He knew what this was - he knew what Dean was doing - and he wasn't ready for it. Realist or not, Castiel wouldn't be able to mentally prepare himself for the day that Dean would pass away right in front of him – especially not like this. He couldn't simply sit there and take it in. He'd never felt more human than he did right then.

"No Dean... Don't say goodbye... Don't do this... Keep fighting... Hang in there... We'll cure you. I promise... We'll find something..." Castiel insisted, plowing right over Dean's attempt at a farewell speech. His monotone wasn't enough to hide the fact that he didn't believe his own words. He wanted to believe them, but he couldn't.

Dean shook his head and pulled at Castiel lightly, encouraging him to move closer and so Castiel did. He moved onto the little bed with Dean and held him close, rubbing his back and softly kissing his forehead and cheeks. Part of him hoped this was enough to get him sick too, then maybe he wouldn't have to live for very long without Dean.

"Castiel... Let me... Please... I don't wanna die without telling you..." Dean said softly, his eyes fluttering shut.

Castiel gripped Dean tight, squeezing his eyes shut as he willed Dean to hold off, to keep fighting a while longer, to stay with him. But he could feel - even now - that Dean's light was leaving him. Dean's breathing was getting increasingly shallow. "Dean... I..." Castiel's voice cracked and broke with a soft sob as he ran his fingertips across Dean's skin. Dean's fever had dissolved away in moments and given way to chilling cold.

Dean was shivering and his skin practically icy to the touch. He smiled sadly, pressing his forehead against Castiel's collarbone. Dean's body was too weak for even his teeth to chatter.

"You probably already... know... but Cas... I do... ya' kno'..." Dean fumbled around with the words that he knew he wanted to say but really couldn't bring himself to.

Castiel kissed his forehead and nodded.

"I do know, Dean." He whispered against Dean's sweat-slicked brow, holding him close while he did his best to keep Dean warm with his body's heat.

Dean coughed a little, gritting his teeth as his bones surged with pain again. He let loose a low groan, going rigid in Castiel's arms as he went into another brief fit of agonizing pain. When the moment passed, he was panting for breath, his lungs barely filling with air. His vision was beginning to go dark.

"And I can just... go in peace... cause dying like this sure as hell beats the countless other alternatives..." Dean's voice was quiet - barely deciphered - but Castiel understood. Dean was trying to be profound and sweet, trying to keep sarcasm from his voice in his last moments. He had to be open and honest now - better late than never. Castiel shuddered a little and shook his head.

"Just... stop talking Dean... Stop talking and stay with me... A little while longer..." Dean didn't reply, his chest was no longer bobbing with shallow breaths.

Castiel looked down and saw Dean's eyes had gone dull and lifeless. He was gone. The cry that left Castiel's body was inhuman and it tore through the air like a knife. He clung to Dean, holding him close as he sobbed and wailed, burying his face in Dean's shirt.

"You're all I have... All of it... has been for you... Don't go damn it all... Don't go..." Castiel protested between hiccuping sobs, letting his tears flow freely as he laid there and held Dean in his arms...

Castiel wasn't willing to let go just yet...

…

Bobby watched Sam as he paced the floor. The skies outside were darkening slowly as the sun set behind the horizon and Dean's life was ticking away downstairs. This whole situation was just too much to take in. Really, it was.

Sam took a few shaky breaths and shook his head, glancing at Bobby who had taken a seat behind his desk with an untouched glass of whiskey in his hand and a blank sort of look on his tired features. The sound of Castiel's wailing was all the sign they had needed to know that Dean had passed on. Neither Sam, nor Bobby had the courage to go down there and disturb the fallen angel at this time. He had every right to cling and to mourn. Dean had been everything Castiel lived for, and now that was being ripped away from him just like his grace had been.

Sam knew he had to do something. Instinct told him he couldn't simply sit back and do nothing. In all his memories, he knew that he should be grief-stricken and jumping up to do something to save his brother. He wondered briefly it maybe he could save Dean; often times they would save each other in the past, why not now? He took a moment to consider his options, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully. He glanced at Bobby briefly, then he headed for the front door.

"Where you goin', boy!" Bobby called out, though he wasn't rushing to do much to stop Sam. Right then, he doubted Sam even gave a shit that his brother was dead.

Which, of course, Sam didn't really feel it deep down, but he knew he should. He decided he was going to do something. Anything. He would even come back from Hell and track down Dean and Bobby; he didn't particularly want to watch what little he had in the world fall apart. Soulless or not, that just didn't fit his idea of practical. He needed Dean alive and Bobby sane. Then he considered Castiel, who - without Dean - would have fallen from grace for practically no reason at all. No no no - none of this would do. His gut told him that he had to fix this. The raid on the vampire nest had been his idea, and now he had to put the situation right.

"Out! I need some air!" Sam called back as he walked out the door, slamming the paneling shut behind him. He walked over to the Impala, opening the trunk to pull out his bag and dig through the innards until he found the box he was looking for. The cool wood felt more like lead in his hands. He frowned and opened the wooden lid, checking to make sure everything was there, before snapping it shut and walking deep into the junkyard. He found a decent secluded place, surrounded by gutted cars and rubble. He fell to his knees and dug a hole. Cupping his hands together, he moved the earth as quickly as he could, placing the box in the ground and covering the shape completely. He stood and slapped his hands together to rid them of as much dirt as possible. He looked around, gritting his teeth. It occurred to him that he didn't have a soul to bargain with, but he would cross that bridge when he got to it. For now, he would make each step up as he went along.

"Come on!" Sam shouted at the empty space around him, turning every which way and praying (ironically enough) that a crossroads demon would show up.

Exactly what would make any demon show up to make a deal with him?-well, that was not really important. Sam simply wanted one to come. If anything, he had the knife; he could always catch them, threatening them into helping... Right...?

Sam waited for what felt like the longest seven minutes of his life - since seven minutes in heaven with Sally Simmons in the sixth grade (she had head gear and thought Sam was "freaky" so it was more like seven minutes in hell) - and then started to give up hope. He knew that the chances of a demon showing up to make a deal with him would be slim, but it never hurt to try, did it? He sighed and was about to turn to walk back toward Bobby's house in defeat but found his path blocked.

There was Crowley, dressed in a black suit with the smuggest of grins on his face and, frankly... in Sam's way. And he was laughing. Sam would have been offended by the laughter if it weren't for the fact that, well... he pretty much deserved it. I mean, let's be realistic here - Sam didn't exactly have much to offer a crossroads demon these days.

"Now this... This is hilarious..." Crowley said as he slowly began to circle around Sam. Crowley's eyes were glimmering in the moonlight and Sam was able to pick up the odor of expensive cologne Crowley wore. The demon used to send chills down Sam's spine, now he really only felt like ripping Crowley's spine right out. "The boy with no soul, trying to summon a crossroads demon. I knew you were a moron, but this has reached an entirely new level of idiocy, even for you. But I s'pose just because idiots don't feel stupid, doesn't mean that they aren't." Crowley's words were enunciated, long and intentionally drawn out.

Sam knew it was only done to piss him off since he was already in a hurry. He clearly wanted to get this whole thing over with and get Dean breathing again. He flexed his fingers, turning so that his eyes never left Crowley as the demon strolled around him. Crowley's shoulders were arched back and his head held high. The way he carried himself spoke of exactly how amused he was. He looked about as pleased as the cat that ate the canary. Sam briefly thought of what he wouldn't give to completely wipe that smug look off of Crowley's face and tear him to shreds.

"I want to make a deal." Sam said firmly, his body finally tensing as Crowley stopped in those circling tracks to step up into personal space. When Crowley invaded that space it always made Sam's skin prickle with a familiar craving. He had developed this craving during his time with Ruby, and now it was back with a vengeance in the presence of the aloof demon before him.

Crowley was laughing again. Laughing because not only could he see the peculiar urge in Sam's dark eyes, but because he knew Sam was in way over his head this time. "And what, pray tell, do you plan to make a deal with? You have no soul, Moose!" Crowley spat.

Sam licked his lips nervously as he glanced around quickly, then back to Crowley. He reached slowly towards his side for the knife but stopped when he saw Crowley's eyes darken with murderous intent. His lips didn't move but his eyes said; "You had better fucking not." And Sam wouldn't.

Crowley would run at the first sign of violence from Sam - he could tell instantly - and he wasn't in a hurry to scare off his only chance at helping Dean. Crowley watched as Sam lowered his hand away from the knife and sighed. Sam watched the fearsomely dark, murderous look in Crowley's eyes fade once more to aloof amusement. Crowley tilted his head and raised an inquisitive brow at Sam. It was his move, and the demon was patiently going to wait it out - if for no reason other than entertainment.

"There's gotta be something else you could want from me..." Sam pleaded, "Anything else." His voice was barely above a mere whisper. He was a man trapped in a desperate situation, and he did his best to make it obvious, hoping Crowley would give in with some empathy and make a deal.

Crowley took a couple steps back, rubbing his chin as he observed Sam with deep thought. He was planning something, and Sam wasn't sure he liked that. Crowley's black eyes twinkled dangerously as he nodded slowly. Sam would have felt relief - if he could have had that ability to feel - but right now he simply wanted to get this done and over with.

"All right, Sammy boy. I'll make you a deal - since that's what you want. Instead of your soul - which I would've had to have waited ten years to get anyhow... Let's say... I heal Dean up, good as new, hell, I'll even make it so he can never get sick again, and you turn your body over to me... For two years." Crowley offered, his tone unreadable, though Sam didn't need tone to know Crowley had something dastardly up his sleeve. "I think that's more than a fair trade, you really get the better end of the deal if you ask me." He looked down at his watch. "But I'd hurry up and make a decision because that deal will be off the table in, five... four... three..."

Sam didn't have time to thoroughly think this through. Crowley was twisted, but he was clearly willing to make this deal and Sam couldn't pass this opportunity by. He swallowed uneasily, nodding swiftly. "Okay. Okay. But... You can't hurt me in any way or kill me." Sam blurted out, stepping up to Crowley, who settled a wolfish grin over his features. Sam hated the things he saw in Crowley's eyes as he pulled Sam down to his level by the nape of his neck.

Mouths barely inches apart, Sam shuddered inward a little as he heard the blood thrumming in Crowley's veins. In a flash of blinding white-hot light, Sam briefly felt as if something was burning into his skull. Crowley's voice echoed within his head more than it did in his ears as some strange unknown reached inside him, taking a stranglehold of his subconscious. Like a ghostly presence, Sam felt Crowley's own subconscious tethering to his. It was a union that formed almost instantly, like pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly; Sam felt everything solidify as Crowley's fingers dug into his neck. A thousands words and memories flashed before his eyes, Crowley's dark voice reaching him in the darkness.

"It's a deal." Crowley hissed, and then – with no warning - his mouth was pressed to Sam's lips, sealing the deal.

Sam grunted in discomfort, but the flavors of good scotch and cigars were filling his senses as Crowley's tongue invaded his mouth - much to Sam's surprise. He groaned softly, closing his lids tight as he allowed Crowley to kiss him. That subconscious link between them seemed to ebb and flow, growing in increments as Sam's control began to slip away. He was lost in the taste that was inhuman. Something about the mouth of a demon was so agonizingly intense that drowned him in the loss of power, like a maze drawing him toward the center. He could hear the quiet coaxing of Crowley's thoughts, telling him that he now belonged to the demon... in every sense of the word...

Crowley now owned him.

Then, just as Sam was getting too far caught up in overwhelming sensations, Crowley's mouth was gone. As he broke away, he gasped for breath and looked around, his eyes widening as he realized he was no longer in the lot outside Bobby's. He had been transported into the grand entryway of a mansion. Sam glanced about with mild curiosity as he took in the 16th century English decor eeking off the walls.

The grand staircase that lead up to the next floor swept skyward in curved elegance. A crystal chandelier hung above him, lit with an engaging ethereal glow. He looked to the left and right, seeing a hallway that lead to what could only be a parlor to his left, and to his right, a free swinging door, from which he could hear hushed voices and the clanking of pots and utensils. He assumed that would be a kitchen. He took a few tentative steps further into the priceless home, looking down briefly at the ornate carpet that stretched out beneath his feet over the pristine hardwood floors. This mansion reminded Sam of a castle – almost fairytale-like in its garishness. The rich woods and elegant carpentry details were nothing short of astounding. He knew there was only one place this could be - Crowley's place of residence.

As Sam's thoughts fluttered around Crowley, the demon was there at the top of the stairs as if right on cue. His dress shoes making a soft click-click against the floor as he descended, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. Sam narrowed his gaze, watching intently. This all seemed far too easy, and while he would like this to be a bit simpler - when dealing with demons, it rarely ever was. His head was swimming a little with unfamiliar whispers. Crowley's whispers, to be exact.

"Welcome home, Sammy boy." Crowley said, quirking his lips upward into a very satisfied smirk as he sipped his drink, eyeballing Sam over the crystal rim.

At first, Sam wasn't sure if Crowley had actually stated those words out loud or if it was entirely in his mind. He shook his head a bit, trying to rid himself of the buzzing in his mind and the ringing in his ears. Sam swallowed uneasily and sighed, finding that it was useless. It was unsettling for him; the term "home" wasn't something he wanted to hear from Crowley. In his head or out loud. However, he would agree that his body was Crowley's for the next two years, so he supposed that this made some sort of sense. He would have to live here. He simply hadn't expected Crowley to go so far as to take hold of his mind as well.

"What now? You agreed to not hurt or kill me." Sam asked, his voice thick with irritation and impatience. "So what's your game...?" The cerebral whispers ceased all at once, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

Crowley tutted and shook his head as he stepped off the last stair and approached Sam with fluidity. "Sam, Sam, Sam... Always in such a hurry? Just relax. You're not in any danger and your brother should be celebrating his miraculous recovery right about now, he's just escaped death for the umpteenth time..." Crowley said, maintaining an air of distance. "I suggest you say 'thank you'." Sam folded his arms in defiance across his chest. "Maybe with another kiss... Because that last one was... mmm. Downright tasty..."

Sam didn't exactly enjoy being teased and taunted by Crowley, but it was like water off a duck's back – as it all rolled away. Eye-rolling at Sam's unamused expression, Crowley silently thought this would be so much more fun is Sam did have a soul. At least then he would have had the common sense to be upset, or afraid, or-something other than completely apathetic.

"What... are you going to do with me?" Sam asked harshly, wrinkling his nose a little as Crowley stepped right back into his personal space again, peering at him with eyes full of intrigue and enthrallment. Crowley shook his head, taking another long slurp of his drink. His eyes swept up and down Sam's shape, giving him a grimace of displeasure which caused Sam to knit his eyebrows in curiosity.

Just what was going through Crowley's head right then?

"You are a mess, Sam." Crowley said, his voice silky smooth as he tugged lightly on the front of Sam's jacket and then gestured towards the stairs. "Go upstairs to your room, clean up and dress in more suitable attire, then we'll talk over dinner." Sam opened his mouth to refuse, but Crowley put a stop to the protest as if an imaginary finger pressured Sam's mouth to close. "Not a moment before."

Sam had found he couldn't bring himself to argue the orders as his impulses changed and he began to walk away - not against his will, but certainly not of his own volition. The push of Crowley's subconscious was back, and urging him onward.

"There's a good boy, Sam. I'll see you in the dining room soon enough!" Crowley called out after Sam as he watched him ascend the stairs.

It began to sink into Sam's mind that he was literally Crowley's - like a marionette on thin strings. Sam began to wonder if he would have the mental capacity to leave Crowley after two years – should he need to - if this was what was going to happen to him all day every day. Crowley's will was now Sam's own, and - if he even had the sense (or soul) to be afraid – he knew he would be terrified.

Sam's legs seemed to know where to take him as he climbed the stairs and trudged down a long hallway to the open door of an opulent bedroom. He took in the rich Victorian influence in the room's decoration: lush canopy around the bed of thick velvet curtains, a domed ceiling painted with beautiful clouds and a chandelier in the center. There was an antique armoire coupled with a desk, where - not too surprisingly - Sam's laptop sat perfectly as if had always been there.

Noticing a door slightly ajar, Sam felt a knee-jerk impulse push him to the paneling. He reached out, his fingers taking in the feel of the cool smooth wood as he pushed the door wider to find an enormous and elegant master bathroom. This was the sort of restroom you would see in celebrity's house: an elevated jacuzzi tub, a free standing shower, a mirrored wall where the sinks were mounted, and decorated in all creams and golds. Sam walked over to the bathtub, catching sight of the waterline – steam arising from the sudsy liquid - as he realized someone else had drawn his bath for him.

Suddenly, Sam was actually aching to strip down and step into the tub. He took in the soreness of his muscles and noticed that he did, in fact, smell rather pungent. With a few hurried motions, he stripped off his clothes, letting them fall to the floor. Once the cotton and jean material hit the cool tile, they vanished - probably to never be seen again. At that moment, Sam was too busy with an idea of a hot bath on his mind to dwell on it. Stepping up the three tiny stairs that lead him to the edge of the tub, he slowly sank in, releasing a soft groan as he sank down into the water. He dipped his head under and came back up, slicking his hair away from his face and closed his eyes. This was the best thing he'd felt in a long time. He took a few minutes to relax before he began to wash, from head to toe; he took his time, paying close and careful attention in ways he'd never really done before.

He slid soapy hands and cloth over his skin, finding they were moving according to someone's direction other than his own. The cloth slid out of his hands, making it apparent what he was about to begin to do to himself. Sam's fingers moved up and down his body in a slow and sensual manner, heading over to lightly tease his pert nipples. He arced his head backward, releasing a pent-up groan. As strange as it sounded to admit, he couldn't deny that the sensations felt quite delicious - physically.

His fingers slid down his torso, over his belly, and down between his legs. Sam gasped out loud, squeezing his eyes shut as his hand closed around his growing erection, the other hand gently tugging on his testicles. He bit his lower lip to stifle grunts and groans of pleasure as he continued to touch himself intimately. He could hear Crowley's whispers directing him, urging him, and dominating him to succumb to a deeper, darker desire. Sam was getting off on knowing that Crowley was fully aware of everything he was inflicting onto himself, under his spell, his control... and it shouldn't have made him as pleased as it did to know so much.

He was stunned at how deeply embedded in his head Crowley seemed to have gotten. Sam allowed his hands to be directed, letting his body let go to fall into the power of a masterful demon. He knew he didn't have a real choice in the matter, but he wasn't going to let that spoil the fun. He hadn't pleasured himself like this in a long time. He wasn't able to last very long under the guided ministrations. His hips jerked upward, canting on one roll after another as he gave a strained moan upon his release. He panted to catch his breath, picking the cloth back up to wash-off completely. Sighing in relief at being totally rinsed off and smelling better than he had, Sam closed his eyes in ecstasy.

A short time after, he pulled the plug from the drain and slowly rose from the tub, grabbing a towel as he did. He slowly dried off, taking a peek at his raw nakedness in the elongated mirror. He did feel better now that he was clean. The startling fact was that he couldn't remember the last time he had put that much effort into a bath - mostly catching quick showers here and there at truck stops and trailer parks, sometimes in gas station sinks from a leaky faucet. It was surprisingly refreshing.

With an odd spring to his movements, Sam wrapped the towel around his waist and headed back into the bedroom, going straight to the armoire. He seemed to know exactly that his clothes were in there. He pulled the doors open and looked through, pulling out a button-down navy-blue shirt and white dress slacks, noting that they were already tailored to fit his exact height. It scared him a little, as if Crowley had been planning this situation for months. He slipped on the clothes, running a comb through his hair; he found a pair of slippers by the bedroom door as he headed to exit the room. He slid his feet into the soft plushness, smiling a little. It was like being lovingly pampered.

If he didn't know Crowley as well as he did, Sam would have most likely enjoyed this entire occasion more. He did a little, last-minute adjustment to his shirt as he opened the bedroom door, shuffling out to glance down either end of the hallway. There were a few doors in each direction, and in between them were paintings, and the side-tables carried precious vases and exotic plants on their surfaces.

Dean would have made some sort of snide remark about Crowley's choices in decorum, but Sam actually kind of liked it. Something about it was very old-world royalty. It was practical for Crowley, all things considered.

Sam headed back down the hall and descended the stairs, heading through the parlor into another hallway that lead to the dining room. As he walked down the hall, he glanced through some of the slightly open doors: seeing a sitting room with a very comfortable looking window seat and then a little further down on the opposite side was an armory. He noticed that at the end of the corridor was a pair of French doors, partly open. He knew this was the doorway to the dining room.

Sam slipped quietly into the room, glancing about at the walls which were decorated with draped

tapestries. He caught sight of the large, round table in the room. It was antique, very rustic and its carvings were quite mesmerizing. He furrowed his brows as he suddenly wondered if that was the round table that King Arthur himself had taken a seat at.

Crowley was standing near one of the six windows along the far wall, staring out into his courtyard where there were little paths that swirled and twirled to end up at a center with a very elaborate and frivolous fountain. His back was to Sam, still clutching a glass of his favorite Scotch. "Sam... how good of you to join me." Crowley almost growled the words on a smooth breath, turning his head a little to flash a small smirk in Sam's direction. He raised a brow as he took in Sam's appearance, turning his body to fully face his newly-arrived guest of honor. With a slow nod of satisfaction at the sight of Sam, Crowley chuckled softly. "That... is so much more palatable than your flannel, wouldn't you agree?"

Sam folded his arms and shook his head at Crowley, walking over to the table and taking a seat in one of the chairs as he watched him closely.

Crowley sauntered across the room to sit across from Sam, sipping at his Craig a bit before leaning backward against the chair and setting the glass down. He entangled fingers and hands together on the table top, witnessing Sam sit in stony silence for a few minutes, simply enjoying the absolute quiet that had fallen over the other man. For Crowley the fun was only just beginning...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two...

At first, the sudden intake of breath that split the air terrified Castiel, and he shoved away from Dean, crashing to the floor, knocking over the chair and the bottles of water in the process. Dean's body was lurching off the mattress, his back arcing suddenly as he was ripped from the after life and thrown back into his body once more.

Castiel sat upright, looking at Dean with wide eyes and a wide-open mouth as he watched Dean's chest rise and fall with quick, needy breaths. By some miracle, Dean was alive and breathing; he was no longer lifeless in Castiel's arms. As the black veins gradually disappeared from Dean's skin, he was slowly gaining back his color, leaving him looking whole and healthy.

Dean's chest was heaving, his body shaking as life returned to his limbs. He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times as he tried to gain some sort of bearing on where he had been while unconscious and what had just happened. Sitting upright, he shuddered a little as he glanced around, catching sight of the dank walls of the panic room, and Castiel's state of shock – one Dean had not thought of for fallen angel to produce. He ran his hand down his chest, shocked that he wasn't dead and yet still breathing. At first, Dean was relieved, then something in the back of his mind ripped open – like a dam bursting – and reality came rushing forth.

Castiel rose off the floor slowly, moving to settle on the edge of the bed and reached out to gently caress over Dean's cheek. He was almost unsure if this moment were truly real.

"Dean...?" he inquired softly.

Shock evident on his own face, Dean stared at Castiel, reaching out to tenderly run his fingers along the strong jaw, taking in the feel of soft bristles. He swallowed uneasily, glancing around again as his features pulled into a worried grimace as he met Castiel's eyes.

"Where's Sam?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous in tone.

Castiel knew that tone and understood that Dean was unhappy - very unhappy indeed. He swallowed uneasily as the question sank in, beginning to wonder, as well, where Sam might be at this exact moment, and if this sudden resurrection was indeed linked to the absent Winchester. With renewed strength, Dean was out of the bed in a flash, charging up the stairs, leaving Castiel in the dust for the moment. Castiel quickly snapped out of his thought-filled trance and rushed up the stairs after Dean.

Bobby took in the sight of Dean as he burst into the room; he would've been more shocked had he not seen Dean "rise from the dead" multiple times by now. This time, the question came out more like a barked order, now directed at Bobby instead of Castiel.

"Where is Sam!" Dean shouted, causing Bobby to get up from his seat.

Bobby hadn't thought hard enough on Sam walking out, now wishing he had done something to stop him. He cursed under his breath and shook his head, setting down the drink in his hand on the desk and seriously looking at Dean.

"That damn fool said he was goin' out..." Bobby grumbled as he turned away from Dean, grabbing his shotgun and heading out into the scrapyard.

Immediately, Dean didn't hesitate – a few steps behind – as Castiel followed along, trailing behind Dean. They split up and began canvasing the lot, calling Sam's name over and over, looking in every car, under every pile, searching for what felt like hours.

"Sam!"

"Saaaam!"

"Sammy!"

Dean shouted into the air until his throat was hoarse and he was blue in the face, unable to comprehend where Sam could have gone. He couldn't help the instant thought that Sam might have done something regretful to bring him back. Without a soul, Sam had to have traded something just as precious, and that scared the ever living breath right out of him. That was the only explanation Dean could fathom as he stood here, miraculously alive once more. Sam must have found a way to make a deal...

He sat down, leaning against the dented bodywork of a car and panted a little, trying to catch his breath. He was tired; the long day (more like long week) had taken its toll. Dying took a lot out of a man, but being resurrected in the same day seemed to take even more. His head thudded back against the metal of the scraped car as he closed his eyes and wiped a hand over his face. This was just sheer idiocy. They needed to make a pact to never deal with demons again, no matter how lonely they got.

"Damn it, Sam..." he fussed to himself, cursing his baby brother and every stupid idea that constantly put them in precarious situations. The soft crunch of gravel met his ears and he glanced left to see Castiel approaching him with a disparaging look on his face. Clearly, Castiel and Bobby hadn't had any better luck finding Sam than Dean had. Big surprise there. Dean looked up at him as Castiel slowly sank down to sit beside him.

"We are unable to locate Sam. It is possible that he simply left for some air." Castiel offered in a small attempt to comfort the other man. "He has no soul to make a deal with. It could be that something else has brought you back, Dean."

Dean shook his head insistently, there was a niggling in his bones telling him that Sam had everything to do with his being alive again. Instinctively, he just knew it. Soul or no soul, Sam was somewhere at the mercy of a demon all because of him.

Castiel wrapped an arm around the sagging shoulders, hating to see Dean such a mess. It always seemed to cause Castiel much heart ache to witness Dean internally beat himself up over something that was out of his control or not his fault in the least.

"Cas... I know he did this... I just can't fuckin' stand the thought of what might be happening to him... I gotta find out where he is..." Dean said gruffly, shaking his hands at the emptiness before them as if Sam should have been sitting right there across from them. He sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through to Sam's number.

It appeared to be the easiest place to start when it came to finding Sam. If he was alive and well, he had to answer. If not, then, well... Dean would cross that bridge when he reached it. After pressing "send", he put the phone to his ear while Castiel watched curiously, wondering if Sam would bother to answer. It rang and rang, then finally rang a third time. On what would've been the fourth ring, the line was answered, Dean sighed with relief. Unmistakably, it was Sam's voice on the other end.

"Hey."

"Sammy? Where are you?" Dean asked in a rush, not in the slightest mood to play games or dance around the subject. He was worried sick and he had to make sure Sam was okay. "I know you made a deal, so... what's going on?" He could practically picture the look of disappointment on Sam's face as a sighed passed through the phone, only serving to irritate Dean more than he was to begin with.

"Yeah. I made a deal. But I'm fine. Don't come looking for me." Sam replied calmly, his voice completely void of any recognizable fear or worry. "I'll be home eventually. Just. Wait it out, okay? I promise nothing bad is going to happen to me..."

Dean hadn't heard a single "code word" come into play, privately signaling there was any danger to escape from. In his mind, the predicament he knew Sam had found himself in was getting more and more twisted by the second, and he was not a happy camper.

"What? Don't look for you! Damn it, Sam, what the hell have you gotten yourself into!" Dean shouted, causing Castiel to slowly scoot away from the other man as Dean furiously rose and headed toward the Impala. "Where are you?"

Castiel jumped up and followed after Dean, making sure to stay out of swinging distance - in case Dean were to try and throw something or hit something.

"Dean. I'm serious. Don't worry about me... I'm fine. If you come looking for me, it won't be pretty. Just hang in there, keep working cases with Cas and Bobby. I'll be home before you know it." Sam insisted, almost sounding like he was holding in a laugh. "I'll call you tomorrow, I swear. I'm right in the middle of dinner, so I really don't have time to talk. Just relax."

"Right in the middle of WHAT! Don't you dare tell me to relax, you sonofabitch! What the hell are you doing, Sam!"

"Bye, Dean."

"Sammy, don't you dare hang-" Dean loudly cursed as the line cut off and Sam was gone. He groaned, pulling his arm back as if he was about to throw the phone, but Castiel grabbed his arm swiftly and stopped him.

Gently, Castiel took the phone from Dean's shaking fingers, waiting for the shoulders to relax a little before letting go of Dean's arm.

"Dean... Calm down a little... Talk to me. What happened?" Castiel asked, his voice calm and even which helped stop Dean's urge to break his phone.

As Castiel handed the cell back over, Dean took a few deep breaths and put it away in his pocket. He spared a glance at Castiel and shook his head, grunting a little and pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned away from the other man.

"I don't know... He-He said he was in the middle of dinner, that he was fine, and he'd call tomorrow..." Dean said, his hands still shaking and his eyes darting around as if he would suddenly see Sam standing around the corner as if it were all a joke. "And he told me not voice managing to come looking for him or things would go sour."

Castiel nodded discerningly, gently wrapping an arm around Dean's shoulders as he guided him back toward the house. Dean was able to adjust and get his head on straight once Castiel had him in his arms, walking in step with him back through the yard to Bobby's home.

"For now, maybe it's best if we take his advice. Sam is very capable of handling whatever it is that he's gotten into on his own. Even more so without his soul than he was before. We've seen the way he deals with monsters these days. Let's not panic." Castiel encouraged, giving a tender squeeze to Dean's shoulder, helping to reassure him that things were going to be fine. "We should rest tonight, and tomorrow we will start fresh."

Dean probably would have argued with Castiel, if he hadn't been so god-damn tired, but that certainly sounded like a damn good plan. He was utterly exhausted in ways that he had felt only a handful of times before. He was ready for a hot shower and a soft bed. The thought of sleeping on Bobby's floor made him grimace with disapproval. He was going to need an actual bed. A bed big enough for him and Castiel to lay in together.

"Not here... I-I-I don't feel like shacking up here tonight." Dean replied, his voice softened by the underlaying weariness coursing through his system. "Let's drive, buy a six pack and get us a motel room."

Castiel nodded, stopping at the threshold as he took Dean by the shoulders carefully, forcing him look him in the eyes, face to face. He wanted to make sure Dean wasn't about to do anything stupid. "All right. That's what we'll do. You're in no condition to drive, so I will. Just let me get our things..." Castiel replied with a tenderness reserved only for Dean, watching closely as fingers smoothed over the fallen angel's chest, taking in the feel of the t-shirt Castiel was wearing stretched over his smooth muscles. Castiel slowly pulled away from Dean's touch and headed inside, noticing Bobby sitting in the kitchen, a beer in hand.

"Any luck?" Bobby inquired.

Castiel shook his head. "It would seem that Sam does not wish to be found. But as far as we know, he is unharmed. Dean and I will be moving on for the night. Thank you for your assistance as always, Bobby." Castiel said, grabbing up what little things they had in the house.

Bobby nodded toward Castiel. "You two be careful now," he warned, though there wasn't much emphasis behind it. Bobby was clearly as weary as everyone appeared to be.

"You know that is not logical, Bobby." Castiel replied as he walked out the door, letting the paneling swiftly shut behind him.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Gotta work on those people skills..." he grunted as he turned his attention back to his beer, knowing he was going to sleep uneasy tonight unless he got drunk.

Castiel packed their things into the trunk as Dean slipped into the passenger seat of the Impala. Both were in a hurry to get out of here and get to a motel a few miles away. Somewhere quiet, hopefully. Shortly after the trunk slammed shut, the driver's side door opened and Dean watched Castiel slump down into the driver's seat. Castiel rubbed his neck, yawning a little before he put on his seat belt and started up the engine, backing out of Bobby's junkyard onto the road.

In a matter of minutes, they were on their way out of town. They drove in silence for a couple of hours until Castiel felt himself growing too tired to maintain good eyesight to drive, so he pulled off the highway and into a little town just west of Bobby's. Castiel's watch said 3:04 am and he felt every second of that late hour. He was becoming increasingly weary. Once in the center of town, it wasn't hard to find a motel; he was relieved when he saw a nice quiet place for them to stay for the night. Pulling into The Red Lady Motel's parking lot, Castiel was able to rent a room for he and Dean, leaving Dean snoozing in the Impala. Getting Dean out of the car and into the room was nothing short of a dangerous quest.

With minimal argument, Dean let Castiel pull him from the car and lead him to the room. The door swung open to reveal a rather neat and tidy room. Perhaps a swankier motel than they were used to. Dean smiled and laughed a little as he saw the single King-sized bed, remembering that Sam wasn't with them and they could have some privacy. It all looked so inviting, helping Dean relax some. It was a bit freeing to not have his brother with them right then.

Castiel watched Dean attempt to undress as he took off his jean jacket, tossing it carelessly to the floor and heading for the shower in the process. Castiel couldn't help but shake his head at the hunter as he struggled to stay balanced. Tired or not, they both were in need of a shower, and Castiel was glad to come forward and help Dean get there in one piece. He would've probably taken one when Dean was finished. He wandered over to Dean as he flicked the bathroom light on and urged him to sit down on the edge of the tub. Castiel turned the faucet handles, checking the pouring liquid for proper temperature before he turned his attention back to Dean. Dean had managed to take off boots, socks, and long-sleeved plaid button-down shirt, but he looked about to pass out.

Castiel reached out, using delicate moves to slip the t-shirt over Dean's his head. His hands deftly unbuckled the leather belt, unbuttoning the rough denim - each movement well-calculated and precise. Dean gladly let Castiel strip him of every piece of clothing, not protesting once. Castiel was about to turn to leave - once Dean was totally naked - only to be stopped by Dean's grip coming around his forearm. Castiel instinctively flexed muscles under the secure grip, his head tilting as he wondered what Dean wanted. He swiveled to look down at Dean with questioning eyes.

Dean returned the stare, a small and lazy smile tugging at his full lips. "Shower with me..." he requested, his tired voice managing some reminiscence of huskiness.

Castiel couldn't help the smile that came over his face. He had hoped to be able to simply hold Dean close and kiss tonight. Nearly losing Dean for good had shaken him to the core. He nodded, yanking Dean to his feet. His smile grew as he felt fingers slipping under the hem of his t-shirt, pushing the fabric up his bare torso. The fingers deliberately ran over incredibly sensitive nipples, drawing a sudden gasp from Castiel.

Dean released a slight smirk, tugging the shirt over Castiel's head, tossing it aside and immediately moving to the jean crotch to undo the buttons. Castiel's lips found Dean's and his hands were tightly gripping strong arms; one hand was settling perfectly over the mark he'd made on the upper biceps, the other palm cupping the back of Dean's neck as he held the sturdy frame in their passionate bout of kisses.

Making quick work of Castiel's jeans and pushing them off slim hips, Castiel toed off his cowboy boots, not caring at how difficult or awkward the motion seemed; he couldn't bear to break away from Dean's mouth for even a second. Each kiss was more fervent than the one before it, their tongues breaking through to invade one another's mouths. As they increased the pressure of their kiss, Castiel's facial hair was soft yet mildly abrasive against Dean's skin. The sensation caught against Dean's light stubble - here and there - and reminded him of the strong and capable man he had fallen for. 

Not some passing female floozy - not even close. He was more than Dean could have hoped for: dedicated, faithful, warm and inviting. Castiel was like home; a place where Dean felt sheltered and comfortable, completely at ease in his own skin. Even when the two of them picked up the occasional woman to share, it was never about her, it was all about them. Castiel was more than a lover, he was a dear friend. They were two halves of the same whole. The connection, and bond between them was unlike anything he had ever experienced. And Dean had experienced quite enough to know best.

Dean broke from Castiel's kiss to push down his boxers, kneeling to kiss along the flat abdominal wall, then back upward to straighten and trail along to eventual kissing waiting lips. Castiel stepped out of the puddle of clothes collected at his feet and followed Dean's footsteps into the shower, meeting him again under the spray of the water. Dean was all muscle - hard and toned - and Castiel was fascinated by every inch. He ran his fingers over Dean's skin, watching water droplets travel down over the other man's body with intense blue eyes. Some of his angelic manner remained in his eyes, and probably always would.

Dean watched closely as Castiel dipped his head, kissing and sucking at his collarbone, then over his chest and back up to kiss and suck at his neck, nuzzling against him as the water soaked them both. The hot spray slowly washed away the dirt and blood that clung to both of them. Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel's pliant, sinewy form, holding him close as he found lips once more.

Another passionate and intense kiss took hold, like a force beyond their control. Their tongues rolled over the other's as slick bodies crushed together with each and every movement they made. Castiel gasped and moaned, tipping his head back with a groan as Dean's hand slipped between them to grip his manhood, stroking slowly just how Castiel liked. Dean's lips attacked the exposed throat, suckling and licking at his skin like he hadn't ever tasted something so wonderful in his life.

Castiel sighed in contentment as the water cascaded over him; his hunt-weary body had been needing this. Each touch from Dean was sending pleasure through every inch of his body. He licked his lips as he took in the feel of his lover, then suddenly felt Dean's other hand on him. He smiled weakly as Dean's fingers slipped between his buttocks, pressing inside him. "Is this what you want tonight, Dean?" he whispered, a shiver of pleasure coursing through him at such an intimate touch.

In the quiet and dimly lit shower, Castiel met Dean's gaze, easing a smile over his lips. Dean winked at him, nudging his nose under Castiel's chin, urging him to tip his head backward. Showing how much he cared with each gentle sweep of his mouth, Dean tenderly nipped at the marks he had been leaving on the human flesh of Castiel's neck and collar. Castiel hoped his blatant trembling wasn't noticeable, moaning softly as tingles coursed through his body coupled with pleasurable shivers.

Though he was disturbingly honest with Dean, sometimes he felt almost shy about showing how affected he was by the attention he was paid. He couldn't help releasing a breathy groan as Dean's tongue swept over his pert nipples.

With each smooth flick of Dean's tongue, Castiel was swept further into the throes of their undeniable passion. Castiel held Dean closer, kissing him wherever he could, wanting to hold on to the man for as long as he could, never wanting the warmth of his body to leave. Dean looked at Castiel with heated green eyes, water pouring over both of them and making their skin glisten with what light there was coming through the shower curtain. After a small pause, he pushed his fingers deeper into Castiel, pressing up against the drenched frame wantonly, showing his fallen angel - with every movement - how badly he wanted, maybe even needed, him. Castiel gladly accepted Dean's fingers, the slightly uncomfortable, but none-the-less blissful feeling sending his eyes rolling back in head.

Dean's fingers were pushing at exactly the right spot, rubbing against the sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside. Castiel didn't resist rocking his body towards Dean with a rough and heady groan. To keep himself from falling down, his arms came around Dean as the sensations made him utterly weak in the knees. With a few careful movements, he backed up so he was pressing against the wall, Dean moving easily with him. Castiel met Dean's gaze again, the intensity sending a shiver through Castiel's body. Unable to resist the urge, he claimed his lover's mouth with his own, making a throaty and hungry noise in the back of his throat as Dean kissed him back.

The feel of Dean's fingers inside him was enough to make Castiel's cock twitch with need. He ran his hands along Dean's body, taking in every shiver and twitch of taut muscle. The water was going cold... Dean grunted and slowly broke away from Castiel, shutting off the faucets. Returning back to Castiel to pay him more attention, he couldn't help the cocky grin that eeked out once he saw the predicament Castiel had been left in: he was slouched against the wet tile, legs shaking a little, and his cock stiffening. The length was proudly standing up in a dark nest of curls, leaking with a need to be touched.

Castiel's lips parted in soft pants, utterly kiss-swollen, and his eyes spoke of how hungry he was for more. Each little bruise and mark on his neck showed that Dean had been there only moments before. "Let's get to the bed." Castiel insisted as impatiently as a newly deflowered virgin.

Dean watched Castiel step out of the shower, simply so he could get a good look at the perfect rear end, and then slipped out of the shower himself. Castiel was toweling himself dry as he headed into the motel room, and Dean was quick to follow behind him, stopping just long enough to grab lubricant from his inside jacket pocket. He set it on the bedside table as Castiel tossed his towel aside and pulled back the covers and sheets. They both slowly descended onto the bed, taking a moment to just enjoy one another's company. Dean looked at Castiel for a long moment, before he rolled onto his side, reaching up and gently running his fingers through the fallen angel's damp hair. He leaned in and gently let his lips brush over Castiel's in a kiss, fleeting and warm.

Castiel, unmoving, didn't attempt to stop him and just barely returned it, indulging in the gentleness of the moment passing between them. Dean laid there a moment, only mere inches away from Castiel, letting the sensation sink in before he cupped the back of the nape, pulling him in for a firm kiss. And this time, Castiel kissed back just as rigidly. He gladly yielded to the hunter, letting Dean dictate the pace. He was content with whatever the other man needed… Yes, needed. Dean was in need. In need of caring, validation, relief… And Castiel was more than willing to give those to things to him. This was what he knows he was best at, giving into Dean's wants and needs. It was practically second nature.

Dean was absorbed by the powerful kiss, his body tingling with anticipation as Castiel's hand slid against the print on his arm. That always seemed to send sparks through him that lit a dormant inner fire. His tongue touching the seam of Castiel's lips was encouragement enough for the fallen one to part them, and Dean eagerly took in the wet warmth and satisfaction that he found there. The taste of Castiel's mouth was so different than any woman's; it was charred with whiskey, bittered with cigarettes, but sweet with the natural taste of him. Dean was almost embarrassed to admit that he simply loved the taste. It was like a drug.

Their lips were moving against one another, their tongues swirled, and teeth gently nipped, leaving no inch untouched, untasted, or unbruised. The raw emotion of gratitude was sizzling in every gentle caress of Dean's tongue against Castiel's. It wasn't rushed, or too hard… Not even dominating… It was slow, sensual, and caring. A kiss that Dean had grown to know well and indulge in. Dean loved a good, long, hot kiss. Dean felt goosebumps rise on his flesh, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end with shivers of desire. Castiel's fingers barely skimmed against Dean's skin as he pressed a cool palm gently to Dean's stomach, rubbing it softly. It was a soothing motion Castiel had learned long ago that Dean liked very much. Whenever the other man was stressed or at the end of his rope, Castiel's nimble fingers were gently rubbing Dean's stomach to calm him down again.

Dean practically melted into the caress of Castiel's hand. Castiel continued to tenderly pet him, keeping everything very innocent without being totally sinless. It was a skill he had that drove Dean absolutely mad. Every touch made Dean want more of the fallen angel, and soon he couldn't contain his desires anymore. In a quick motion, he rolled them over to lay on top, grabbing Castiel''s hands and pinning them above his head. Castiel's eyes were flashing with passion in the silvery moonlit glow that fell through the curtains onto the bed; as their lips broke apart, he barely contained a disapproving moan.

Dean simply couldn't help it, he wanted Castiel. He seemed to crave him all the time; each time they came together was more intense than the last. Sam had been completely forgotten for the moment as Dean stared intensely at Castiel's body. All there was, was him… Just Dean and Castiel, together in this moment. Fuck the rest of the world. They had each other.

Castiel smiled up at Dean, enjoying the blush that crept along Dean's neck and cheeks coupled with the lust in his bright green eyes. He leaned forward and up, gently tugging on Dean's lower lip with his teeth, coaxing another kiss from him with a few more nips and a swipe of his tongue against Dean's mouth. This time around, Dean's tongue didn't wait for permission, merely pressing directly onto Castiel's mouth once more. Shivers crept down Dean's spine at the taste of their saliva mingling and the sound of their heavy breathing through their noses. It had become purely tantalizing, mouth-watering perfection.

With a gentle push of Castiel's hand, Dean relaxed onto his knees, sitting on Castiel's lap as Castiel went upright, pulling him close into his arms. Castiel ran his hands up and down Dean's chest, leaning in and giving him a few kisses, their lips lingering each time on one another, briefly. Dean gasped a little as Castiel's fingers smoothed over his nipples. Castiel's lips slid into a very satisfied smile as he took the pert buds between his fingers and began to expertly pinch and roll them, drawing little gasps and sighs of approval from Dean. The fallen angel knew just how to push his hunter's buttons.

Castiel dipped his head, kissing along Dean's throat and collar, finding that he really loved the reactions that it gained. He didn't hesitate with dragging his teeth lightly – here and there – as he marked Dean in places that could be covered with a t-shirt. Whether they were hidden or not, Castiel would know they were there and that was what mattered. Dean flung his head back, eyes squeezing shut as he groaned in approval, absorbing every sensation Castiel was providing. The touch of his hands, the caress of his tongue - it was all stimulating in ways that Dean couldn't keep track of. The amount of caring and attention that was being shown to him was something he wasn't familiar with until he met Castiel. Even now, he still wasn't sure what to do with himself.

Castiel's hands slowly traveled lower, coming to rest on Dean's inner thighs, dangerously close to the erect length. Dean's hips twitched forward as Castiel's cool fingers wrapped around the heated stiffness, squeezing a little before he began his careful stroking. Dean was growling with pleasure and the gentle rubbing Castiel was giving him. His throat and chest bobbed with a shallow, hitched breathing.

Dean was shuddering from head to toe, soon he couldn't stand any more and pinned Castiel for a second time to the mattress. Castiel was surprised when he found himself suddenly underneath Dean, the skilled tongue moving immediately to lave affection on his nipples. He gasped and groaned, unable to help his reaction when Dean started sucking on them: one, then the other – a succinct back and forth. Dean's hands were deftly around Castiel's manhood, working fingers up and down in ways only privy to Dean's expertise. Castiel moaned and thrust into Dean's secure grip as he was steadily jerked off.

Dean slowly began to kiss his way down Castiel's body, his lips and tongue lingering on each nipple for a while longer before traveling lower. Castiel was like putty in Dean's hands, molding into whatever Dean wanted him to be. Castiel huskily groaned as those lips closed around his leaking tip and his eyes rolled back into his head before fluttering shut. His fingers were instantly in Dean's short hair, tugging him this way and that, directing him as he sucked along the staff. The gentle and careful sensuality of every movement sent Castiel's heart soaring, his body shifting and writhing beneath Dean's mouth.

Dean's tongue caressed every inch of Castiel. He knowingly hit every nerve, every sensitive hot spot, not neglecting a single area. Castiel's body glistened with sweat, his chest rising and falling rapidly with every shaky breath he took. Dean's fingers lightly caressed his thighs, teasing at his hair a little, making Castiel shiver, and his tongue and lips massaged Castiel's cock.

"Dean... Dean... Yes... I like it like that... Ahh..." Castiel praised, his confessions of pleasure sounding both uncontrollable and nervous. Castiel felt heat coiling in the pit of his stomach and his muscles jerked and twitched with a familiar tingling. He was dangerously close. He gave a protesting whine and yanked at Dean's hair haphazardly causing Dean to grunt uncomfortably, and then growl with the new wave of lust pouring through him. Castiel had caused his length to fall out of Dean's mouth, trying to come back from the edge of release. "Dean... No more of this... I want you to-" he paused for a minute, always having a little trouble saying the actual words. "... fuck me." Castiel ground out each word between heavy breaths as he grabbed Dean tightly, pulling him into his arms, kissing him harder than ever.

Dean enjoyed how straightforward and commanding Castiel could be when he wanted something. He was not going to hesitate for one more second. He would gladly give in, serving any of Castiel's wishes. He snatched the lubricant, slicking his fingers and feeling the tingling warmth the gel had start almost immediately. Castiel spread his legs invitingly, propping up hips by placing an extra pillow under them. Dean looked down with dark and lusty intent in his gaze.

Carefully, Dean's fingers made their way to the sensitive opening as he began the slow and torturous journey inward in preparation for the next moment. Castiel's initial reaction was to set his jaw and adjust, and once he felt comfortable he panted a little. He caught his lower lip between his teeth, stifling the wanton moans and whimpers that threatened to escape him as Dean's fingers began their work. Each movement that pressed against the inner sweet spot caused his cock to twitch in response, and his muscles to jump with the sensation as jolts of electricity went through his body. Dean knew just how to undo him and take away all his composure.

"Yes... Dean... Dean..."

The way Castiel called his name made the single syllable title more than it was - a begging plea for more. As Castiel begged with only Dean's name crossing his lips, the needful moan of the husky, gravely voice made his own erection throb hard between his legs. With his teeth, Dean dipped his head, beginning to tug on Castiel's aroused nipples, licking and sucking to soothe their soreness after each bite.

This alone would have been enough to make Castiel cry out, but the fallen angel was stubbornly stifling the sound. He tightened his lips, giving breathy moans and groans through his nostrils, knowing Dean would work twice as hard now in an attempt to make his fallen angel sing with loud keens and moans of approval. All too soon, the fingers that Castiel had come to love so much were leaving him. However, their leaving was a silent promise that soon he would be filled with Dean. Dean grabbed for the lube, generously using the liquid to moisten his thick cock. He looked down at Castiel who growled out one word in response to his teasing smirk.

"Now."

After that desperate proclamation, Dean no longer hesitated, and he entered the waiting body, meeting little resistance. Castiel forced himself to relax, taking a few steady breaths, just getting used to the intense tightness. As he began to move, a feeling of pure and unbridled passion poured forth from the hunter, and Castiel couldn't resist wrapping his legs around him, fingers gripping tightly to the flesh of Dean's back, letting his blunt nails dig in.

In the heat of the moment, Castiel let go and allowed emotions pour forth, his voice taking on a deep hoarseness as he whispered confessions, promises, commands, pleas, and uttered single syllable nonsense into Dean's ear. Each word encouraged Dean to thrust more, he didn't falter, didn't hold back. In the presence of a lover who knew him so well, it was only natural to unbound inhibitions. Dean's body was blazing, their skin slick with sweat as they moved together, not too rough, not too fast, but the perfect pace that left them both utterly satisfied every time. A rhythm that they often times easily fell into. It felt just right.

"Ahh! Yes... Yes! Dean... Perfect..." Castiel gasped.

"I know, babe... Fuckin' perfect..." Dean growled.

It was as if they were one when they moved like this; their bodies made to connect. Their world was far away from the one everyone else was living in; they were in a world with no monsters, no demons or angels with no war, no violence, and no worries. Thrusting, panting, moaning, whimpering, gripping tightly, heads tossed back, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut, then forced open. The warmth. The familiarity. It was purely them and no one could take away this moment.

Dean's low and dusky timber shook Castiel to the core as his name was uttered over and over. Dean pledging his name in ways no one else would or ever could. Ways that made Castiel glad he was human enough to deeply enjoy them. "Harder, Dean... I want to be sore... Thrust harder..." came Castiel's raspy and hungry voice, the words sending tremors of want through Dean's body.

Dean was never one to deny his fallen angel. His hips began their rougher pistoning, the sound of their bodies merging growing louder, only to be drowned out by Castiel's noisier moans. He wasn't going to last much longer. With a few hasty strokes to his length – with the way Dean moved as if to know his body so perfectly – he came hurdling toward an eventual end. Castiel's blunt nails bit into the flesh of Dean's shoulders, slowly dragging rivulets of blood and bruised flesh down the expanse of his back as his back bowed from the bed.

"Stop touching me, Dean... I want it to be only you inside me." Castiel demanded, so Dean let him go. With Dean's name on his lips in a guttural cry, his orgasm hit him in a matter of minutes, his seed spurting from his body, coating Dean's stomach, and his own as well.

The inner walls of muscles clenching tightly drew an animalistic groan from the hunter, but Dean hadn't quite reached his peak yet. He needed to be inside Castiel for just a little while longer. He held onto his release, continuing to thrust in the aftermath as Castiel's spent body shuddered and twitched with each strike to his overly-sensitive bundle of nerves inside. He could hardly take the pleasure anymore.

Dean's nose was buried in the warm neck as Castiel continued to move his body against Dean's. Both of them were sweating from the exertion of their joined movements as Dean panted. Castiel hooked a leg behind one of Dean's and - in a fluid motion - rolled them over, leaving him straddled over Dean's hips. Dean gazed up, his breath quickening as Castiel began to bounce and roll his hips, working Dean's body towards its inevitable climax. Dean ran his hands along Castiel's body, taking in every hard angle and coarse hair that made him the downright rough and completely unique man that he had come to love. He grabbed Castiel's bottom, lifting him a little higher a few times, simply so he could watch his cock slide obscenely in and out of Castiel's body. "Fuck, you are so damn sexy, Cas..." Dean growled.

Castiel managed a chuckle as he moved, moaning softly each time his prostate was stimulated by Dean's member. Dean ran his hands up and down Castiel's sides as the fallen angel planted his hands firmly on either side of Dean's head, kissing him hard enough to leave a bruise, his hips moving faster now that he had better leverage. Dean moaned against Castiel's unforgiving kiss, his fingers digging into Castiel's hips as he guided him into his movements, each slap of their skin connecting sending tremors of hunger through Dean. He slid his hand through the sticky mess on his stomach and pressed his fingers against his lips, forcing Castiel's tongue away only briefly so that he could taste the come.

Castiel growled possessively at the sight. "I'll never understand why I find that maddeningly attractive," he purred.

Now it was Dean's turn to chuckle, his hips snapping up to meet Castiel's pace. He inhaled a shaky breath as he felt his body tensing. "Cas... Cas... Fuck, Cas, don't stop... So close..." Dean groaned with encouragement.

Castiel had no intention of stopping until Dean was thoroughly satisfied, and he was ready to inform Dean of that right when he felt Dean thrust up erratically a few times, before he gripped Castiel's hips tight, stopping his movement so that he could be buried deep inside him as his orgasm washed over him like a tidal wave. Castiel twitched as he felt Dean's hot fluids fill him, slowly starting to seep out as Dean began to pull out of him. Castiel carefully moved to lay on the bed beside Dean, trying desperately to catch his breath while Dean basked in the afterglow of his release. Dean rolled over, taking Castiel into a brief kiss, before grabbing the edge of the sheets and wiping them both down, not bothering with anything further for now. Dean was far too tired. He closed his eyes and yanked Castiel into his arms.

Castiel yawned, nuzzling against Dean's neck as he rested his lids closed. "Perhaps we should have done this first... hmm?... And showered second..." he muttered on a soft lull.

Dean quietly laughed and shook his head. "Go to sleep, Cas."

Castiel grunted in response, and seconds after the command, they both were falling asleep.

...

Sam leaned against the windows in the sitting room, watching closely as the raindrops spattered against the panes of glass. In a way, the rhythmic tapping was soothing. He hadn't slept well last night, and it wasn't because he had been uncomfortable. The food had been good, the bed had been warm, and there was enough peaceful quiet to satisfy any anti-social, soulless being in the world. It wasn't that he disliked company, or even that he favored being alone.

Dean and Bobby had smothered him a bit on the side of constant companionship. Dean fretted too much about getting Sam's soul back, and Bobby hovered, worrying Sam might kill someone if given the proper motivation. He didn't blame them for thinking what they did; he would probably feel the same in their place. Despite all that, Sam felt a little on the empty side.

He rested his head against the window, watching the gray sky from his comfortable place curled up in the window seat. Not seeing Crowley enter the room, he had felt the demon's presence, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling in response.

"Sam. I missed you at breakfast. I'm terribly sorry." Crowley drawled, his words quite clearly insincere in their apology. "I had some errands to attend to."

Sam never turned once to look at Crowley, merely continuing to stare out the double-paned glass. He had known Crowley hadn't been doing much good all night into morning. It was difficult to not think about it, what with the way Crowley's subconscious feelings would occasionally slip into him through the strange bond that had come from their sealed deal.

"What do you want, Crowley?" Sam asked somberly, not really interested in spending time with him. Truthfully, he would rather sit and rot directly in front of this window.

Crowley heaved a sigh, reaching up to rub his fingers against his forehead for a moment as he spied Sam's stare – with an unabashed intensity - out the window at the drenched courtyard. "Well, firstly... don't sound so pleased to see me," he quipped as a displeasure for being ignored seeped into his tone. "Second, I'm going to be very frank with you, moose, so pay attention. And by 'pay attention' I mean 'look at me'." Crowley's tone was bordering on cross, and Sam turned his head to meet the inky-black gaze.

The whispers of Crowley's irritated subconscious were causing Sam's head to throb. It was then that Sam noticed the second demon in the room. He looked to be possibly Scandinavian or Russian, and at least three inches taller than Sam, broad chested, long blond hair and pale blue eyes. He was wearing a three piece suit, and from his stature, Sam assumed he was packing some heat beneath the jacket.

Sam raised a brow, taking his eyes off the blond demon to look questioningly at Crowley. In his mind, he wondered 'Who the hell is this guy?' and, by sheer force of will, Crowley heard the internal question.

"Sam, this is Theo. He will be your bodyguard when I'm not around." Crowley gestured to the hulking demon in question.

Theo cracked his neck and squared his shoulders, the muscles in his arms flexing.

Clearly unimpressed, Sam gave a slow nod, furrowing his brows. "What exactly do I need a bodyguard for?" he challenged, folding his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes at the demon as bulky muscles were flexed once more beneath the expensive linen. For some reason, the brute felt it needed to be made crystal clear that he could break Sam's spine.

Crowley put his hands on his hips, looking toward Sam as if he had seen his IQ drop by ten points right before his eyes. He gave Sam a very unamused and straight-faced reply. "To guard your bloody body, that's what. It's in the damn title, Sam." Crowley chided, shaking his head at Sam in utter disappointment. "Use that enormous and thick skull of yours, for one second... will you, please?"

Sam snorted and gradually turned away from Crowley, looking out the window at the gray and dreary scene once again. "I can take care of myself, thanks." Sam replied flippantly, waving Crowley off.

Crowley did an uncomfortable fidget, then motioned for Theo to take Sam. In one quick motion, Sam was thrown over Theo's shoulder, struggling to get away. "Hey!" Sam shouted his protest. "Put me down!"

"Not now, Sammy, we have business to attend to." Crowley snapped as he lead the way out of the room while Sam squirmed to get away from Theo.

Theo wasn't budging, or letting go, as he trailed after Crowley. He smirked a little, clearly glad he was getting to display his strength and stature.

Unfortunately for him, Sam still wasn't impressed, like he hadn't been when he was seated in the window, watching Theo flex – it didn't make a damn bit of difference. "Well, at least let me walk or something! This is just stupid!" Sam growled, his tone growing dangerously menacing.

Crowley nodded toward Theo, so Sam was set down on his feet. The blond demon took Sam firmly by the upper biceps, guiding him along as they headed down into the basement.

Sam jerked his arm away from Theo, moving ahead faster to walk closer behind Crowley. He didn't care for this behemoth. They descended down through a heavy wooden door into what could only be the cellar. Sam looked around quickly, taking in the sight of the room. There were tables and shelves stacked with every sort of herb, spice, some bones, a few knives, and many crystals. These were clearly supplies for spells. Instantly, he became restless as he realized this was like a workshop for many of Crowley's ill deeds. Right in the middle of the room was a table with engraved straps, probably used to hold demons (or innocent victims) down. Beside the elongated table was a rolling one, one the surface was a bowl of water, along with some other herbs and a bushel of cut flowers, a grinding bowl, and a stone knife. Sam wanted to back away, but the presence of Theo behind him made that impossible, which made him feel rather uneasy.

Theo shoved Sam further into the room, then walked to the top of the stairs, slamming the large wooden paneling as he slid a heavy lock into place.

Sam resisted the urge to run. His instincts told him that he didn't want to stick around in this place very long.

Crowley took off his suit jacket, setting it on a chair in the far corner of the room and slowly rolled up his sleeves, glancing at Sam. He could sense Sam's need to get out of the darkened room. "Remove your shirt and get on the table." Though commanding in tone, Crowley voice was startlingly gentle, but the request was something Sam intended not to disobey.

Feeling that brazen will inside his mind once more, Sam felt his subconscious taken hold of in a soft caress and a few whispers. It was like Crowley was trying to keep him completely at ease. He popped open each button on his dress shirt, letting the lapels drape a bit before the material slid off his broad shoulders and down his sinewy arms to land on the table's surface. Handing the shirt to Crowley, Sam climbed onto the long slab.

Crowley folded the shirt neatly, setting it aside with his own suit jacket, and then set to work lighting a few random, interestingly odored candles. As their smell encapsulated the room, the air filled with a strong stench and Sam breathed it in indulgently. It was sweet like hay that had baked in the sun on a farm, out in clean country air, and like warm peach cobbler straight from the oven. It even smelled like a fresh ocean breeze on a rain-soaked beach.

It felt like every good memory Sam had kept deeply embedded in his mind was drawn to the forefront as he laid back on the table. He became a little dizzy inhaling the heady scents wafting around him, his head quickly swimming into a state of euphoria. Sam never noticed that the demons in the room were completely unaffected, and he could really care less. He was barely aware when Crowley had started reciting an incantation, until those nagging whispers echoed in his head again, repeating the Latin verses Crowley said out loud.

His vision slowly blurring, Sam sensed everything around him take on a heated glow. It was strange, but not frightening. In fact, Sam had never felt more relaxed in his life. Suddenly, he was more aware of what was going on when he felt Crowley bind his wrists and ankles to the table. Being tied down wasn't so much scary, as it was a promise that something, likely to be unpleasant, was coming. The whispers of the demon's subconscious softly reminded Sam that Crowley couldn't actually hurt him, otherwise their deal would be broken. It was somewhat reassuring, but not quite. He wanted to clear his head of all this fog and fight against the restraints. He took a shaky breath and tried to speak but Crowley put a finger to Sam's lips to silence him while he continued chanting.

Crowley's whole manner was gentle but authoritative. He was deeply involved in every word he said, his hands working tediously on his tasks.

Sam watched through a hazy gaze as Crowley crushed what looked like hibiscus and Myrrh into the stone grinding bowl with a kind of tree sap. He searched his mind for what those things might be used for, but all his research had vanished and the only things left were he and Crowley. The soft incantations aided in Sam slipping further into a dream-like state. Coupled with the mental whispers of reassurance, the intoxicating aroma and soothing tone were like a deep-tissue massage, working out every kink in Sam's body. His lids shut for only a moment when his veins began to feel as if they were on fire. His eyes flew open and he jerked hard against the restraints. It didn't hurt, but it was hot. Like stepping into a shower that was too warm to be comfortable.

Crowley had taken the mixture he made, smearing a glob across Sam's forehead from temple to temple. It was sending the jolts of warmth through him, almost so warm that it was becoming painful. Crowley dipped his hands in the bowl of water then he dried them on a cloth, Sam's eyes were following to the best of their abilities. He didn't dare shut his eyes again, lest he not know what was coming next.

Next, Crowley picked up the stone blade, inspecting it for a brief moment. Sam yanked on the restraints, concerned that maybe this deal was about to turn sour and that Crowley was actually going to hurt him.

But Crowley merely placed a cool hand on Sam's stomach, shushing him. A soft whisper of a command met Sam, but Crowley's lips never moved to speak. Sam looked up and saw Crowley's eyes were closed. He felt the connection between he and Crowley bursting open with new depth and it was like a rush of cold water to his veins.

'Just relax Sam, and open your mouth.'

Crowley's instructions reached Sam, and Sam complied, watching as Crowley cut into the palm of his hand. He let the blood pool there, then dipped fingertips into his own blood. He painted a series of symbols on Sam's stomach, moved his cut palm toward Sam's parted lips, his blood spilling into the opening mouth. At first, Sam didn't respond, blood pounding in his ears as he contemplated what he should do, then, somehow, he didn't care. His lips were latched onto Crowley's hand, drinking every drop the demon had to offer.

Crowley was muttering again, the incantation getting louder. As Crowley pulled his hand away and the wound healed, Sam watched with fascination as Crowley's craned his neck and a plume of black smoke poured forth from his widening mouth, descending onto the symbols painted on Sam's stomach.

Sam didn't notice at first, but when he did he screamed. It hurt like hell. The blood markings were searing his skin and the smoke was disappearing inside him, and it burned. It burned like hellfire.

Crowley closed his mouth, groaning in obvious discomfort, his skin pale and shimmering with a fine sheen of sweat. The minutes that ticked by after were excruciatingly long, the pain slowly ebbing away.

Sam could feel his heart hammering against his ribs and his pulse pounding in his veins. He took a few deep breaths, willing the discomfort away. As the pain passed, the candles seemed to blow themselves out, and the room cleared almost immediately of the smells they had given off. Sam was panting mildly, his hands trembling. He was simply glad that he was no longer in pain. The fog in his mind began to dissipate, but not fully. He felt a rush of adrenaline hit him for a moment, and he pulled at the restraints to no avail, quickly depleting himself of what little energy he had. His own hands shaking, Crowley undid the binds, showing how exhausted he was from the powerful spell had had just worked. Sam wasn't sure what exactly Crowley had done, but he was afraid to find out.

"Theo, take him to my room. He needs to rest..." Crowley said softly, his voice hoarse and gravelly. "I have to go speak with an employee of mine..."

Theo nodded, moving to help Sam off the table.

Sam winced a little, looking down at his stomach, seeing that the symbols were now scars on his once-smooth stomach, marring him permanently. He furrowed his brows and wondered how that didn't qualify as hurting him. He wasn't able to question Crowley before the demon was gone. So he allowed Theo to help him upstairs, to the top floor in fact, and into Crowley's private bedroom.

It was significantly larger than the room Sam had been in the previous night. It was decorated in smooth blacks and rich greens. Sam had never been so relieved to climb into bed in his life as he was right then. He felt like he was wasting away. Theo helped him under the covers and gently tucked him in, before stepping out of the room, leaving Sam to sleep while he stood guard by the door.

Sam slept most of the day away. His body was unconscious the moment his head hit the pillow. He didn't wake until he heard rustling across the room. The sound of cloth crackling and clap-clap of footsteps on the hardwood floor pulled Sam from his unconscious state into the realm of the waking world again. He wasn't too grateful for the awakening, grunting a bit as he glanced around. Through the gap of the dark velvety curtain, he saw a smidge of sun that hurt his eyes and made him wince in discomfort.

Sam's head was throbbing with pain, and he rubbed his eyes as he sat upright, seeing that the source of the noises was, in fact, Crowley. Crowley was taking off his suit jacket and silk tie, and even untucking his shirt over by the desk on the far left side of the room. Tossing his clothes into a hamper beside the closet door, he appeared shaken – frazzled – if that was even possible for a demon. Sam had really only ever seen one side of Crowley, and this was not it.

Crowley glanced over his shoulder when he realized he was being watched. "How are you feeling?" He quietly asked on an approach to the bed, unbuttoning the cuffs to roll the sleeves up to the bend of elbows. He reached out to place the back of his hand on Sam's brow to check for fever and examined him intently. The expression on Crowley's face was unreadable, but the whispers in his subconscious spoke of unrest. If Sam didn't know any better, the feeling was near worry.

Sam exhaled dejectedly, his eyes slipping shut to block out some of the warm light in the room. "I feel like my skull is on the verge of splitting open, but other than that, I'm fine..." he grunted in response to Crowley's strangely sincere question. Sam soothed his eyes with the heels of his hands, doing his best not to grind his teeth.

Crowley nodded affirmatively, having clearly anticipated this sort of thing. "Migraine? That's to be expected."

Sam wasn't sure whether that relieved him or made him more uneasy.

"I've got just the cure for that," Crowley stated, slipping his hand into his pocket to pull out a small glass vial. "This'll fix you right as rain."

Sam took the tiny, chilled tube in his hand, staring at the dark liquid inside. He knew what it was. "Demon blood..." Sam claimed in a flat, uninterested manner, but his body craved the blood, practically pulsating in the middle of his palm.

Crowley nodded, his face taking a sort of somber expression. "Yes. My blood, in fact. In general, you'll be needing plenty of demon blood over the next few months to keep your strength up and to stay healthy. Best get used to it again, Sammy boy." Crowley said softly, watching as Sam – with no hesitation – unscrewed the vial cap and downed the blood in a quick gulp.

The warmth that spread directly through his system almost immediately began to relieve the pain in his skull. Sam set the empty vial and cap on the bedside table closest to him and ran his fingers through his hair.

Crowley wrinkled his nose slightly as he saw that Sam's bloody stomach had smeared onto the black sheets. He would have to tell Theo to wash Sam, well and good, before he went dumping him all willy-nilly in the bed from now on. He did his best not to let it irritate him. "Get cleaned up. I'm going to have someone swap out this bedding," he said through a rigid jaw, gesturing to the master bathroom adjoined to this room. "I'll have clean clothes laid out for you as well. Go on now."

Sam got out of the bed and stumbled toward the bathroom, making it there in one piece, rather miraculously. He took in his appearance in the mirror for a moment, seeing the burn scars in the shape of each of the symbols Crowley had painted on his stomach. He ran his fingers over them and they tingled under his touch. Sam was getting curious as to what Crowley had done to him in that basement. If he wasn't hurt, then... what? He turned on the shower and stripped off his pants and boxers, deciding to confront Crowley eventually. For now, the shower was mighty inviting – a very good idea. He climbed in, washing as hurriedly as he could manage, then got out to towel-dry. Sam wandered back into the bedroom with only a towel around his waist, seeing that there were clothes laid out for him as Crowley had promised.

Crowley was eying a female demon, in a maid's uniform, as she changed out the sheets and blankets. Once Sam entered the room, Crowley glanced over, giving him a very blatant up-and-down glance, before he grabbed a set of his own clean clothes and slipped into the bathroom, starting up a shower for himself.

Sam was taken aback as Crowley's whispering subconscious was blocked completely and he could no longer hear him. He hadn't pegged the demon for a neat freak, so he smiled slightly, supposing that he was likely to learn something new every day. He didn't bother waiting for the maid to exit before dropping the towel; he was determined to dress without wasting time. Sam changed into the cleaner clothes, catching the woman staring; he gave her a hard glare that made her quickly finish with her tidying. She scampered out, shutting the door with a firm snap behind her.

Sam smoothed out the dress shirt and slacks he now wore, still trying to get used to owning such nice clothes like this instead of his jeans and flannel. A few minutes later, he was joined in the bedroom by a very refreshed-looking Crowley, who had donned a clean dress shirt and slacks of his own; his shirt hem was tucked in neatly and his sleeves were back to being rolled upward along his forearms.

Crowley smiled at Sam in an near condescending manner. "I suppose – right about now - you're wondering what I've done to you." Crowley said smoothly, crossing the room to lie back on his bed for a moment, staring up at the canopy's ornate designs. "I imagine it can't have been pleasant, but I didn't leave any permanent damage or harm you in any way. As per our deal."

Sam took notice that the demon appeared to be relaxing and lounging, something he never fathomed his kind often did. Ruby hadn't; she had always been... go-go-go.

"Come join me over here, Sam, and I'll explain it to you."

Sam crossed the room, sinking onto the mattress beside Crowley's slouched form, still having trepidations about whether he really wanted to know what had been done to him or not. Crowley's mental connection - born of their prior sealed deal - slowly crept back in, lingering in the back of his mind, simply stroking and petting his anxieties away. Sam was able to relax in the same manner, easing to lay beside Crowley. His eyes were immediately drawn to the elegant golden designs on the black velvet tapestry of the canopy over the bed. He quickly realized that the designs were warding spells and symbols to keep things out. Sam assumed that Crowley had cleverly designed the bed this way so that nothing could reach the demon while he rested.

Crowley gave a heavy exhale and closed his eyes. "To put this situation as bluntly as I can, I desire an heir - someone to take my place in hell should there ever come a time that I don't want to, or can no longer, 'lord' over it. The place would simply fall apart to an even more chaotic hell than was natural without a strong hand guiding the creatures who reside there. Demons would easily get topside, souls would get permanently ripped to shreds and destroyed instead of just tortured. I mean absolute anarchy. No one wants that. Now the problem with picking an heir, Sammy, is quite simple. It's impossible to trust that the person I bring close will actually do as I wish, once I step down from the throne... Demons are liars and tricky by nature, always looking out for themselves... Deceiving to get ahead in the grand scheme of things."

Sam looked over at Crowley, who seemed almost resided in his Fate with his tone as he spoke. Obviously, the demon wasn't doing spectacularly and Sam thought that being the sole entity to "lord" over everything in hell couldn't possibly be an easy career choice. It sounded downright aggravating and tedious in his opinion.

"So I needed to birth one of my own. Now, believe me when I tell you I've exhausted every single other option. I need a human body to carry the child, but no woman is strong enough to contain my spawn. So it came to my attention that maybe I would find an alternate route... So when you came to me with your paltry soulless offer, I saw the opportunity and took it... You're going to gestate and give birth to my heir."

Sam laughed. That was the only thing he could think to do. He wiped a hand over his face, shaking his head. It was hard not to laugh. I mean... He was a guy! Guys didn't possess the parts to get pregnant. Then as quick as he had wanted to laugh, he stopped. Crowley's whispers pressed through the humor that had taken hold of Sam and brought the reality of the situation to the forefront of his mind. He pressed a hand to his stomach and a chill ran down his spine as he thought about the ritual that Crowley had preformed hours ago. The black smoke that had pressed itself inside his stomach. The burns, the plants and tree sap... it all made sense now.

Crowley sat upright, leaning his body so that he could look down at Sam, his expression completely serious. "It's not some elaborate joke. It might behoove you not to laugh," he said as he moved his hand to cover Sam's while the palm rested against his belly. "I was successful in working the spell... You're carrying my child." There was a hint of a smirk tugging at Crowley's lips, his amusement at Sam's confusion fairly evident. He was immensely ecstatic, but Sam was certainly not amused any longer.

Sam hadn't signed up for this (well maybe he had, but that definitely didn't make it okay). He opened his mouth to yell at Crowley, but a firm grip on his subconscious stopped him, making his words die in his throat.

Crowley shook his head at Sam, a calm and serious air had settled over the demon once more. "It would be best to accept your situation... It's a very delicate one. Losing this child would result in things quite catastrophic for your health. You wouldn't want to hurt yourself, would you, Sam?" Crowley mused, his eyes volleying from Sam's gaze to his taut, toned stomach.

Sam pushed himself to sit up a little, his back resting on the pillows stacked against the headboard. "How is this even possible?" Sam wondered aloud, looking at the demon curiously, his brows furrowed and his mouth pulled into a tight frown.

Crowley snorted and a deadpan sort of laugh left him. "Has anything you've ever seen before this night given you the impression that a man getting pregnant with a half demon child isn't possible?" Crowley countered, shaking his head. "Honestly I'm a little disappointed in your reaction Sammy. You're going to be a brilliant mum. Cheer up." The teasing was doing nothing to improve Sam's mood. Crowley wasn't exactly surprised by that. He reached up, tucking some of Sam's hair behind his ear, his fingers gently running over the nape of Sam's neck in a soothing manner.

Sam found his body pushing into the touch, a type of silent and wordless conversation taking place in their subconsciouses. It was made up of feelings and thoughts, abstractly strung together, but to them it was as clear as speaking in plain English out loud. Sam closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and then slowly exhaled. He was calm and collected, but Crowley could tell Sam's needs before the man even thought to vocalize them.

"You're hungry, Sam. Let's go out to eat... Maybe even meet up with your moron brother and his pet angel for a meal. Would you like to see them?" Crowley asked, "Maybe deliver them the good news...?"

Sam clenched his teeth, knowing Crowley was only taunting him. He shook his head emphatically to say "no". "No... No, I don't want to see them." Sam stated succinctly. "It would hurt me if they found out about this."

Crowley smirked and narrowed his eyes. Sam was clever; he would gladly give the boy that much. "Well, then. We can't have you getting hurt, now can we?" he asked, sliding off of the bed. "All right then, I'll have the cooks fix something for us..."

Sam nodded, watching Crowley head toward the door. At first he didn't move, but a sudden unreasonable desire to be nearer to the demon rose in the pit of his stomach, falling into step and heading down the stairs. He absently placed a hand over his lower abdomen, along the way, and gently felt the raised scarring through the delicate material of his shirt. He could sense the second pulse already. It was a bit difficult to take in.

He was pregnant. "So, why me?" Sam asked of the demon. "Why not another man?"

"Well, you did show up willingly. Much easier than having to kidnap someone. And... since you have no soul, it lets my spirit manifest itself more firmly inside my child..." Crowley responded matter of factly. "No. It has to be you. You're very strong, Sam. Strong in ways that other humans just aren't... You're the perfect carrier for my baby."

Sam knew was stupid to try and argue that same point now that Crowley had already impregnated him, but it still wasn't sitting right. He supposed nothing ever would. It went against everything natural. However, Sam had made this deal, and he would have to live with it. For the next two years... He sighed heavily. "I figured you were gonna say that. Who better to carry devil spawn than the soulless vessel of Lucifer, right?" Sam said in an almost bitter tone, but he really couldn't be bothered to feel too bitter. He only wanted to get this all over with.

Crowley stepped into the kitchen and every single one of his employed demons paused, their black eyes turning onto their "master" as he entered.

There was a moment of silence as they hung onto his every movement, waiting for his word. "Well...?" one of them daringly inquired.

Crowley's lips pulled back for a toothy grin, causing him to appear full of pure joy. "We have a baby on board!" he announced quite triumphantly. "So get to work, you maggots. We need to make sure our Sammy boy here is properly nourished. He's carrying your future King or Queen."

All the demons in the kitchen emitted excited grins and whispered to each other, before immediately getting back to their menial, but hard work.

"He needs something extremely rich in protein for his dinner. Oh, and make sure that there are vials of blood on hand in case he should fall ill. He is, after all, still a human." Crowley directed all that he ruled over in his kingdom, not just in his own house. He turned to Sam, who was found staring at him in mild disbelief. Crowley looked up at him with mischief in his eyes. "What? I can't be excited?" he teased, reaching out and gently pressing his palm to Sam's stomach. "I have every right to be..."

Disturbingly, Crowley's hand had felt warm against Sam's belly. As he watched the worker demons prep for a evening meal, Sam rested one of his hands over Crowley's. He felt his other twitching slightly. With an unwarranted impulse, he reached up to gently comb his fingers through the silkiness of Crowley's dark hair. The action seemed to have caught Crowley a tad off guard, but he accepted the affectionate gesture as it was meant. "No. You can be excited... It's a bit to much to take in, is all..." Sam admitted quietly. "I'm sure if I had a soul, I would be freaking out right about now. Or, at the very least, I would struggle not to panic needlessly... But, really, I don't care..."

Crowley's smile faded a bit. "That is both a relief and a disappointment," he exclaimed with a little chilled. "But no matter... Better for you to be calm..."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Sunlight poured through the mauve motel curtains and into room, urging the slumbering Castiel into the waking world once more. He yawned, pulling away from Dean as he sat up with a wince, a soft tingling burn still in his body clinging from the night before. He looked over with half-lidded eyes at the clock on the bedside table, noting it was only eight in the morning.

Dean groaned a little, rousing from his sleep when he felt Castiel's warm body leaving the motel bed, in favor of heading for the shower. The hunter opened his eyes just in time to catch a good look at each muscle of Castiel's toned backside, right down to the perfect curve of his ass, and he couldn't help the little smirk on his lips. That was his. A comforting and exhilarating thought. He yawned, tossing back the covers and got up out of the bed, following and watching as Castiel bent over to start up the shower. Unable to help himself, Dean reached out and slapped Castiel's rear in a light and playful manner, causing the fallen angel to straighten immediately. He turned around, casting wide blue eyes on Dean. Dean waited for the response that Castiel was slowly formulating; he could see the gears turning behind Castiel's gaze.

"Good morning, Dean," he finally said flatly, causing Dean to roll his eyes a little.

Dean leaned in, giving Castiel a pleasantly warm kiss, which the fallen angel return with equal fervency. "Mornin', Cas," he replied sleepily, pulling away from the other man's lips.

Castiel turned back toward the shower, clearly quite sleepy himself, as he yawned. While Dean relieved himself of the early morning need to take a leak, Castiel stepped into the hot spray, starting with the tedious task of washing his hair and body. There was a comfortable and companionable silence in the room, until Dean flushed the toilet. Castiel gave a startled cry, snapping wide awake as suddenly his water ran boiling hot. He quickly moved forward out of the spray's reach, glancing back at it as if droplets would chase after him and cause him further discomfort. "Dean!" Castiel snarled harshly, knowing that it had been Dean's fault he'd been jarred by the hot water.

Dean covered his mouth to stifle his chuckles of amusement at Castiel's expense. "Sorry, Cas. I wasn't thinking," he answered back with mock innocence, before stepping into the shower with him, pulling him close for a kiss while the water slowly cooled.

When the water temperature had gone back to normal, they finished washing, switching places to rinse off, about to get on with their morning routine. It was straight to brushing their teeth after their shower together, then to the table in the motel for a debate on what they felt like having for breakfast. This was always an interesting event, considering Dean already knew what he wanted, but continually gave Castiel the opportunity to pick anyway. Castiel was utterly indecisive every time. After a few minutes of, "Well I don't know Dean, where where would you like to eat...?" and "It doesn't matter to me. Just not Waffle House." followed by "Dean, that clearly shows it does matter."... they settled for a small diner Castiel had seen on their way into town. They'd eat, and then scope out the newspapers and Internet for a possible hunt.

Dean got up from the table, catching his keys deftly in one hand as they were tossed to him by his companion. Castiel grabbed his dark jean jacket off the floor from where he'd deposited it the previous night and slipped into the sleeves, flexing his hands a little and doing nothing to hide the slight limp in his step from the previous night's activities. Dean watched Castiel head for the door for a moment, glad that the fallen angel had given up the suit and trench coat. Jeans and tight-fitting t-shirts suited a hunter's lifestyle much better, not to mention they looked much sexier on the fallen one. Despite his mind being perpetually in the gutter, Dean unlocked the car and they piled into the Impala together, heading out toward the diner.

Castiel put in one of Dean's Metallica cassettes for the ride over, having grown quite fond of the extensive guitar riffs, even though the lyrics were quite offensive to his sensibilities. As they drove in silence, Dean reached one hand over, letting it rest on Castiel's leg, his thumb gently rubbing the jean material. Castiel looked down at the hand and moved to cover the top, gripping the fingers lightly. Castiel could feel it in Dean's touch, he wasn't as calm as he was trying appear on the surface. Castiel could sense Dean's emotions in ways that defied the laws of nature. They had an unbreakable and very intense bond.

Now that they weren't caught up in pointless conversations or sex, the two really let what was going on sink in. Sam was missing, unwilling to give up his location. Hell, he'd flat out told Dean not to bother looking for him. Clearly, Sam had done something to bring Dean back to life, and was now paying for the choice. These things were enough to make them both tense. Sam was family to them both, and the Winchester nature was to sacrifice whatever necessary to protect family. It was something of a vicious cycle that John had started, and they had yet to put a stop to ever since.

As Dean pulled into the diner, he removed his hand, leaving Castiel feeling a little empty without the physical connection. That wasn't uncommon. He was most content when Dean was touching him, the warmth of the other man was like an anchor for him. After he'd lost his grace, the only trace left was inside Dean. They headed inside, taking their seats at a booth near a window where they could see the Impala, just in case. After looking over the menus, making their orders, and receiving their meals, Castiel couldn't stand the stony sort of silence that had taken them over. He poked at his eggs with his fork, glancing occasionally at Dean. Dean was simply staring at his plate, enjoying his pancakes, or at least pretending to.

"Dean, is there something you would like to talk about..?" Castiel inquired softly.

Dean set his fork down, reaching for his coffee and taking a sip as he avoided Castiel's probing gaze. Castiel sighed a little, reaching over to touch Dean's unoccupied hand where it rested on the table top, wanting to comfort him in some way. Dean's fingers twitched a little and he withdrew his hand, sliding it under the table, making Castiel lean back against the pleather cushions and place his hands in his lap. He hated when Dean closed himself off like this. It was frustrating and nonsensical in Castiel's opinion. If anything, he should always be able to be open around the fallen angel. Castiel had always been an open book for Dean, and he'd given the hunter everything he had to offer, including his life.

"Not now, Cas... Not here." Dean said firmly, his voice quiet and steely.

Castiel opened his mouth to argue but his cell phone rang, preventing him from doing so. He pulled the phone from his pocket and flipped it open. "Bobby... you found something for us?" Castiel inquired immediately, watching as Dean began to scarf down the rest of his breakfast as an excuse to keep his mouth occupied with something other than talking about his feelings.

"Nothing yet, guys, you'll have to keep looking. I's just checkin' in on you two, since ya'll left in such a hurry last night. 'S Dean okay?" Bobby asked, sounding as tired as Castiel felt.

"It depends upon your definition of 'okay'. In the physical sense... yes, he is. However, mentally?... I would have to say 'no'," Castiel stated. Dean gave Castiel a very harsh glare, chucking a piece of bacon in Castiel's direction, which he deflected before the cooked meat hit him in the face. He shook his head at Dean. "I'm on the phone, Dean, please stop throwing your bacon at me. It's very distracting," Castiel chided, causing Bobby to chuckle in response. He furrowed his brows, not aware that he had said anything funny enough to warrant a laugh.

"I'll let you boys get back to your breakfast. Jest keep in touch... Oh... And Cas? Keep an eye on Dean. A situation like this'll definitely start to wear him down, and fast," Bobby advised.

Castiel nodded, even though Bobby couldn't see him. "Of course. Call us if you find anything, and we'll begin to look on our own as well," Castiel promised, swiftly shutting the phone without a formal goodbye.

Bobby had grown used to Castiel's inability to pick up proper telephone courtesy habits, considering the only examples he had to learn from were Sam and Dean.

Castiel looked over at Dean, who had finished his breakfast in record time, and was now patting his stomach, giving a loud belch of satisfaction. Castiel wrinkled his nose a bit, but otherwise ignored the obnoxious noise. "Bobby has not turned up any signs of potential cases, so we shall have to look on our own and see if we can find some," he spoke matter-of-factly, looking to the waitress and signaling her to bring them their check.

Dean nodded, sipping his coffee as he watched Castiel pull out his wallet.

Castiel quickly paid for their food, setting a few bills on the table for a tip before getting up; his breakfast, for the most part, left untouched. He hadn't really been that hungry.

Dean followed after Castiel, leaving the building and heading back to the Impala.

They drove back to the motel and packed up their things, checking out and hitting the road again, heading out west. After three days of no cases, no weird signs of anything unusual anywhere in the country, Dean began to get restless. With no hunts and no leads on Sam's whereabouts, things were looking pretty grim. Dean had taken to drinking a bit more than usual, but Castiel didn't mind carrying him back to their room from countless bars as they traveled. Castiel was doing his best to keep Dean sane, but the man was reaching the end of his rope. It wouldn't be long before he snapped. Much as Castiel wanted to avoid that outcome, it was looking more and more likely.

Late in the evening, they pulled into a motel just south of San Fransisco; Dean's bad mood having made Castiel rather tense throughout the last four hours of driving. They didn't talk much, and they didn't listen to music. It was just tense, nothing but unbearable silence... for hours on end. Upon arrival at the motel, Castiel immediately exited the Impala and headed to the motel lobby to check them in. He needed a break from Dean, even if it was only for five minutes while he stood in line to get them a room.

Meanwhile, Dean sat quietly in the Impala, staring at the row of doors in front of him and wondering which shitty room they'd be shacking up for the night. He had no interest in interacting with people. He simply wanted to drown himself in some bad whiskey, and good company... Dean closed his eyes and sighed, picturing Castiel wearing nothing but his cowboy boots, holding a bottle of Jack with a little smile plastered on his lips. If it weren't for his dirty imagination, he'd have exploded by now. His dirty thoughts were soon interrupted by the approaching sound of screaming.

Screaming? Now? Dean gave a hard sigh, instinct rearing its head. He bolted from his car, pulling his gun out and jogging towards the sidewalk as he cocked it, ready to fire if need be. When he saw just what the source of the screaming was, he moved into action. A young, dark-haired woman was being chased down by two guys, twice her size. Dean lifted his gun and aimed carefully, shooting at the woman's pursuers. When his bullets seemed to have no effect whatsoever, he began to panic. He fired off a few more shots as the three runners got closer. That's when he noticed something incredibly strange.

All three of them were demons. The woman's eyes were eerily black, as were the eyes of the ones chasing her. Flying past Dean and nearly knocking him over, one of them finally grabbed the woman, and, in a split second, they were gone. Just like that, they vanished.

Castiel was sprinting up to Dean as the hunter lowered his gun, a baffled expression on his face. Castiel gripped Dean's shoulder, worry evident in his bright blue eyes. "Dean! I heard gunfire! What happened?" he demanded from Dean.

Dean's eyes were stuck on the spot where the three demons had vanished. He tried to piece together what he'd just seen, but nothing seemed to stick or make any sense. This was every possible shade in the paint department of wrong. "I-I-I... I think a demon was just... kidnapped," he responded finally, his voice quiet and confused.

Castiel glanced toward where Dean was staring, seeing nothing there. He walked over, sighing a little as he spied sulfur on the pavement. He walked back over to Dean, who was swallowing uneasily. "We should call Bobby," Castiel advised.

Dean nodded, putting his gun away as he looked around at the people beginning to poke their heads out of their buildings and rooms, all staring in their direction. "Yeah. And probably go to a different motel..." the hunter added, not liking any of the attention. He started heading back toward the Impala, and Castiel fell into step right beside him. Dean pulled out his phone, tossing the keys to Castiel as he got into the passenger side, too shaken up to drive properly. He punched in Bobby's number, chewing his thumbnail as he awaited the older man's answer.

Bobby picked up with a gruff "Hey, Dean" after which Dean simply blurted out what came to mind.

"Bobby, I need you to look into any strange disappearances in the past twenty-four hours, anywhere in the US," Dean replied hurriedly, unable to stop to breathe.

Bobby was quiet for a moment, a little caught off guard by Dean's abruptness. "Okay, Dean, you gonna tell me what this is about?"

"Just call me back when you've got the information," Dean said sharply, not really sure what this was about just yet, and definitely not in the mood to try and explain what he had witnessed. "Thanks, Bobby."

And without another word, Dean snapped the phone shut. Castiel started up the Impala and pulled out of the parking lot, in search of a new motel. After another thirty minutes of driving, they finally were able to check into one for the evening. Dean walked over to the bed and pulled off his boots, rubbing his temples a little. Castiel followed suit, shucking off his jacket and toeing off his cowboy boots, then went over to take a seat on the bed behind Dean, gripping his shoulders and slowly massaging them, hoping to help relax the hunter.

"You should try and get some rest, Dean. You look terrible," Castiel whispered, leaning in to kiss the back of Dean's neck.

Dean closed his eyes and exhaled softly. "Maybe you're right... I just... I have this weird feeling, Cas... My gut's all twisted up wrong..." he quietly spoke, opening his eyes once more, looking over his shoulder at Castiel.

Castiel's gaze told of sincere sympathy, and he leaned in, his chin resting on Dean's shoulder as he kissed his cheek with some tenderness. "A good night's rest will make a difference, Dean. Tomorrow, we will start fresh..." he began to soothe with his voice, whispering soft and loving sweet-nothings in Enochian against Dean's neck, nuzzling in and indulging in the man's smell.

Dean smiled, a bit saddened, taking a deep breath. "Cas... you know I can't understand a damn word you're saying, right?" he said quietly.

Castiel let out a light laugh, though there was no real amusement in the sound. "What is it you say...? Old habits die hard...?" he asked rhetorically, his rough facial hair bristling against Dean's skin when kissing shoulder and neck, gently squeezing again as he rolled the tense muscles in between with strong fingers.

Dean nodded with a soft groan, leaning back into the affection. Castiel's strong fingers were doing wonders on him, working the stress right out of his sore muscles. "Yeah..." he whispered back, letting Castiel slowly slide his arms around him, hugging him firmly against his chest.

"Dean..."

The way his name was said revealed novels-full of caring - a promise in a single syllable. The quietness of his voice and huskiness of his tone drew Dean into Castiel's spellbinding warmth. Lips gently caressed the shell of Dean's ear, then laid a kiss on his head. That was enough persuasion for Dean, who immediately shed his clothes along side Castiel's, and climbed into bed, closing his eyes to take in the warmth of holding Castiel close. For the moment, Dean placed his worries to rest in the back of his mind, falling into slumber.

It felt like no sooner had he drifted into dreamland that he was being jerked awake by Castiel shaking his shoulder.

"Dean. Dean! Bobby's calling," Castiel urged, setting the phone against Dean's ear.  
>Dean groaned his way into the waking world; Bobby's gruff voice was grating on his nerves as he roused.<p>

"Wake up, idjit. This is important," Bobby firmly exclaimed.

Dean glanced at the clock, seeing the digital numbers read - 4:01. And it sure as hell wasn't 4:01 in the afternoon. "It damn well better be, Bobby. It's four in the damn morning," Dean growled low and feral at the elder man.

Bobby shook his head a little and sighed. "You said to look into all the recent disappearances and one turned up that I think you'll be interested in," he replied.

"Okay, shoot." Dean yawned, sitting upright as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, hunching over while Castiel looked on curiously.

"Samuel was arrested in Arizona for the attempted kidnapping of a young woman just yesterday. The kicker, there's no sign of the woman he tried to kidnap anywhere. She simply vanished. If you start drivin', you can probably be there in a few hours," Bobby said.

Dean sighed heavily as he rubbed his forehead for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. Just gimme the address," he grumbled, motioning to Castiel to hand him the motel stationary and pen.  
>Having gotten up to grab paper and pen for him, Castiel handed the items over so Dean could scrawl down the address as he yawned again.<p>

"Okay. Thanks, Bobby. I'll be in touch," Dean stated bluntly, hanging up and getting out of bed.

Castiel walked around the bed frame, stepping up to Dean, stopping him long enough to give him a reassuring kiss, knowing that was what the hunter needed right then. Dean took the affection gratefully, hugging Castiel close for a moment. His life seemed to be quickly spiraling out of control again, which was never a good thing. The last few times a chain of events all strung together like this, Dean had watched the whole world go to shit. Then again, when he thought about that, he could look at Castiel and find something good in it. He had a companion who he could completely trust, who was devoted to all things righteous - more importantly, devoted to him.

Castiel slid away from Dean, digging into his bag for some clean clothes to slip into some jeans and a tank-t, then he sat down to pull on socks and boots. Dean found himself watching intently, and he had to shake himself out of his staring session so he could get dressed, himself. They were ready to leave in a matter of minutes; Castiel loaded up their things into the trunk of the impala as Dean checked them out of the room. The trunk was slammed shut by Castiel; Dean walked up, hands tucked into his pockets, yawning once more. Castiel dug into his own jean jacket pockets, tugging out a little metal cigarette case and lighter, sliding into the passenger seat.

Dean rolled his eyes a little, climbing behind the wheel to start the Impala. She purred as she came right to life, and Dean pulled her smoothly out of the motel. Castiel flicked open his cigarette case, making Dean clear his throat. "Dude. Cas... can you hold off on the weed until I'm not fallin' asleep at the wheel?" he requested with very little insistence needed.

Castiel nodded, grabbing a regular cigarette from his case and snapping the lid to stuff it back in his pocket before he took a moment to light-up, rolling down the passenger-side window.

Dean glanced over as he drove along the highway, watching Castiel take a much-needed drag of nicotine off his cigarette, then exhaling with a very relaxed and satisfied look on his face. He licked his lips nervously, averting his head. Much as he hated that Castiel had started down that path of drugs, alcohol, and debauchery, with the apocalypse out of the way, he didn't see any reason to really try and stop Castiel from behaving. At the very least, Castiel deserved some of this glory. He'd fallen from grace; the least Dean could do was to try and not hold him back from what he wanted. Dean reached over, tenderly resting his hand on Castiel's thigh; he turned to catch a glimpse of a warm smile from the corner of his eye right before a hand was placed atop Dean's own.

"So, Dean... what did Bobby say?" Castiel somberly inquired, puffing idly on his cigarette.

Dean rubbed his thumb against the denim-covered thigh, shaking his head. "Apparently, good ol' grandaddy Samuel was arrested for attempting to kidnap a girl in Arizona yesterday," he answered with some tension to his voice. "Then, apparently, the girl he tried to kidnap simply vanished. They can't find her at all, so we're gonna go question him. I figure I'll go in and be honest - that I'm his grandson... and you can shave up a little and pose as our lawyer."

Castiel wrinkled his nose as he asked with some perplexity, "Shave up?"

"Yeah. Maybe, you trim that beard of yours into a bit more of a professional-looking goatee or something. Just for this. You can let it grow back once we're done," Dean replied firmly.

Castiel furrowed his brows, running a hand over his scruffy cheek and laughed a little, taking another drag of his cigarette. "I suppose that you are correct. I need to look a bit more professional," he agreed with a flick to the butt of his cigarette out the window.

Dean nodded to solidify their agreement. "As much as I love your mountain man -slash- hippie beard, I don't think that any state police officer will believe you're a lawyer as long as you look like this. Dead give-away. Besides, you sound like a lawyer already. You just need to look the part." he replied. Castiel sighed.

"Sam made a much better lawyer," Castiel commented quietly.

Dean couldn't disagree, giving Castiel's leg a squeeze. "We're gonna find him, Cas..." he stated quite profoundly, "I won't give up until we do."

"I miss him just as much as you, Dean." Castiel squeezed Dean's hand in response. "I'm with you every step of the way," he encouraged with a warm smile toward Dean.

Dean glanced at Castiel as he pulled up to a red light, returning the smile. "Thanks, Cas. I don't know where I'd be without you," he replied with a little laugh.

Castiel gave him a more serious look. "In hell or dead, presumably. So be grateful that you do have me," he firmly voiced, but Dean saw a hint of humor in Castiel's bright blues. He was joking in that sort of off-brand humor that was purely Castiel, making Dean laugh a little.

"I am very grateful, Cas. That I promise you."

Castiel smiled once more, picking Dean's hand up and kissing his fingers affectionately a few times, giving Dean the shivers. When Castiel caught sight of Dean's soft trembling, he daringly flicked his tongue out against the apparently sensitive digits.

Dean gave another shudder and glanced over at Castiel, then right back to the road. "Caaasss..." His tone was curious, carrying a slight warning.

Castiel chuckled sinisterly, sucking a couple of Dean's fingers into his mouth, sliding his tongue over then and gently scraping them with his teeth, causing Dean to groan a little; his pants suddenly felt more confining.

As Castiel's mouth moved away from the fingers, Dean pushed his hand forward and wiped the saliva across the fallen angel's cheek. "Fuckin' tease," he growled with a crooked grin.

"Are you awakened now, Dean?" Castiel asked, his tone showing a little bit of playfulness.

Dean narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. "I'm gonna get you back for that, you dick," he warned.

With the warm California breeze caressing his face, Castiel laughed and leaned back against his seat with a content sigh. "I believe I will be looking forward to your retaliation, then," he responded with a pinch of confidence.

Dean's grin softened into a smile of content as he watched Castiel's eyes slip shut under the soft glow of passing street lights. In all the pain and chaos that was their life, Dean had learned to appreciate these little things. The quiet moments that were so far away from any hunt or fight were now the moments he lived for.

"Dean... keep your eyes on the road," Castiel urged quietly, opening his eyes as he rolled his head to look at Dean.

Dean quickly moved his gaze back to the road ahead of him.

Castiel reached over, gently running his fingers up and down the back of Dean's neck in tender affection, knowing it helped soothe his hunter's frazzled nerves.

"Cas... uhm... thanks for being here," Dean quietly stated.

"Where else would I go, Dean?" Castiel questioned as his hand slipped away from Dean and returned to his lap.

Dean swallowed uneasily and let the question simply hang in the air as he drove. Where else would Castiel go? Nowhere. This was home.

This drive was significantly more comfortable than the previous ones they'd had this week, and by eight-thirty in the morning they were entering the state of Arizona. It was only a little while longer before they arrived in town and checked into a new motel.

Dean knew they needed to hurry up and get things taken care of, so it was straight to the bathroom with Castiel and the shaving kit. He used every skill he had in reserves and, as if he were Michelangelo creating a great work of art, he shaved Castiel's face up into a nice, neat and tidy goatee. "There. All done," Dean said as he finished up, stepping away from the mirror to let Castiel get a good look at himself. He ran his fingers across the smoother cheeks, then along the trimmed facial hair.

"I must say, that I am thoroughly satisfied with the end result. I may keep it like this," Castiel stated, turning away from the mirror to look at Dean.

Dean gave Castiel a heated up and down examination. "Okay you," he said finally, turning away. "Get into your suit so we can drop in on Samuel."

Castiel nodded and stripped out of his clothes, while Dean - of course - watched hungrily, his thoughts going through all the dirty things he'd like to do to that body of Castiel's.

Castiel seemed to sense his thoughts and laughed a little. "Dean, now is not the time to get riled up," he chided quietly.

Dean rolled his eyes on a heavy sigh. "Yeah, fine. Ruin all my fun," he replied with a frustrated wave of his hand.

Castiel shook his head, his lips quirked into an impossibly adorable smirk. Dean couldn't keep looking at him, for fear that he might lose control and just tackle the other man. Castiel pulled on his clothes and straightened them all until he was neatly put together in his suit and then, from their suitcase, he pulled out the trench coat. He sighed a little, running his fingers over the soft and worn material. Dean caught Castiel's forlorn look, and he knew what was going through the fallen angel's mind. Castiel often got that far-off sort of look in his eyes when he thought about being an angel. It was clear that Castiel missed it. He missed his power, he missed his comrades, and he missed heaven.

Dean couldn't help but feel like a cheap substitute sometimes, but Castiel always reassured him that he was happier with Dean. He could actually feel when they were together... And that was worth far more than all of heaven's duties, powers, and treasures.

Dean took the trench coat from Castiel's hands and set it down. "It's pretty warm out... I wouldn't wear that. You'll get over-heated," he said softly.

Castiel nodded, looking to Dean with bright and questioning eyes.

Dean sighed and pulled a comb from his back pocket, doing his best to tame Castiel's hair a little before he slipped it back into his pocket. "You ready?" he asked.

Castiel simply nodded, heading out to the Impala.

Dean looked at the trench coat for a moment, his own heart aching for the old days a little. He then followed Castiel out to the car, driving them right down to the police station.

…

Sam panted heavily in his sleep, his head tossing back and forth on the pillow, his body covered in a cold sheen of sweat. He gave a shaky groan, trembling a bit from all the discomfort he was experiencing.

Crowley was seated on the edge of the bed, the sleeves of his black button-down shirt rolled up and a cold compress in his hand. He gently pressed it Sam's forehead, dabbing lightly. He could feel across their subconscious connection exactly what Sam was going through right now.

Side effects of what had been done to Sam were starting to show more and more clearly; it was almost scary to see the usually strong and confident man reduced to shudders and whimpers, his body trying to sweat out the darkness developing inside him. Sam's body was jerking upward in convulsions; his fever was so powerful. Each of his muscles were going rigid, right down to his fingertips. He gripped the sheets tight, letting go after a hard inhale as his body shuddered back to being slack and limp against the mattress.

Crowley sighed, shaking his head as he reached out to dabble and swipe along Sam's face again once he was settled. When Sam's eyes cracked open, Crowley immediately set the cloth aside and lifted Sam's head a little. "Sam... can you hear me?" he asked quietly.

Sam swallowed, his mouth so dry it felt like sandpaper. "Yeah..." he rasped.

Crowley nodded. "You need blood, Sam. I'm going to give you some. Drink as much as you can..." he said, setting Sam's head down. He reached over to the bedside table, picking up a razor.

Sam's eyes fluttered shut as he heard the razor flick open. He shivered when he felt blood dripping onto his lips, and his tongue slipped out to gather up the warm liquid. It burned and tingled on his mouth and over his taste buds, the coppery flavor lost in the pure sensation. A few more steady drops, and Sam was reaching up a shaky hand, pulling Crowley's palm down so he could suck freely at the gash. He laved his tongue against the wound, lapping and sucking hungrily, and greedily, at Crowley's blood. He got so caught up in it, he almost didn't feel Crowley weakening. Sam heard a soft and feeble groan come from the demon, so he pulled his mouth away, licking his lips and opening his eyes. He looked Crowley over, seeing that the ordeal had taken quite a bit out of him; Crowley was pale, shaking a bit.

Sam shook his head. "It's not enough... I can't keep drinking from you or I'll kill you..." Sam said quietly as his body slowly started getting strong again. He felt the pain ebbing away and the fever dying down almost immediately.

Crowley laughed a little with a wry smile. "You, concerned for my health? That's a good one..." he said quietly, almost defensively.

Sam sighed, a little weakened but prepared to make his point. "Well, if you die, how am I supposed to survive this?" he countered quite cleverly.

Crowley sighed, reaching up to gently brush some of Sam's damp hair away from his face as he examined him closely. He hadn't thought it possible to miss the way Sam had been before, but right about now, Crowley almost did. He shook his head and rose from the side of the bed, heading over to the door. He opened it, while Sam watched closely. Crowley was hissing instructions to Theo again. Crowley was ordering Theo to bring demons here... He wanted Theo to kidnap demons.

Sam licked his lips and narrowed his eyes. Something told him that there was more to Crowley's orders but, Crowley had started to block him out and away from his thoughts. He knew that his pain had only just begun and something told him that he'd have to trust Crowley completely if he wanted to survive this, even if things were being hidden from him.

As Crowley walked back toward the bed, Sam slowly got up. His eyes were intensely focused on Crowley's barely readable expression. Sam took a breath and then cleared his throat. "How much blood am I going to have to drink to keep going?" he inquired quietly.

Crowley didn't meet Sam's eyes as he responded in a hushed tone. "You will drink gallons a day... I cannot risk your health..." he whispered.

Sam tensed and sighed heavily. "Right. Gallons... I feel like the past is starting to repeat itself here... The last demon that had me drinking blood was using me to free Lucifer. I hope you know that if you do anything like that... once I'm free of our deal... I won't hesitate to kill you..." he stated clearly, his tone very calm and somewhat void of conviction or emotion. His eyes, however, showed just how serious he was. It was then that something began to stir inside Sam. An unusually strong feeling was beginning to brew inside him. It was familiar and it was starting to push on his subconscious that sent a wave of desire through his veins. He swallowed hard, his cheeks flushing, and his pulse quickening as he gazed at Crowley.

Crowley took a moment to let the words sink in before he gave Sam a smirk that veiled his true emotions. He seemed blissfully unaware of Sam's growing arousal. "Sam, if I wanted to commit suicide, I'd do something a lot easier than raise Lucifer from the cage..." he said quietly. "You needn't worry..."

Sam chewed on the side of his tongue as he watched Crowley go to his desk, pouring himself a glass of Scotch to avoid his eyes. Each movement Crowley made was sending Sam's heart racing. He watched Crowley loosen his tie, cracking his neck a few times; he ran his fingers back through his hair, his fingers slowly massaging the kinks of his neck. The way Crowley groaned quietly, almost inaudibly, was too much.

Sam crossed the room swiftly and wrenched the glass from Crowley's hand and set it aside rather carelessly, slopping the liquid over the side onto his hand before he grabbed Crowley up by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the wall. The tension in the room seemed to intensify immediately as Sam held him in place against the hard surface of the wall. "I don't think you're taking me very seriously, Crowley. I will not let you take me so lightly. I'm not joking around," he growled ferociously, his nose barely centimeters from Crowley's.

Crowley opened his mouth to speak, but then he stopped himself. He suddenly became much more aware of himself. The proximity between he and Sam was so close he could feel the heat of Sam's body; he could feel his breath ghosting over his face, their lips near to touching. He looked down at Sam's mouth and then met his eyes, his tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously.

Sam was growing more aware, too, and his body seemed to be responding to the things passing from Crowley's subconscious into his. He slid his knee between Crowley's legs, rubbing against him, watching the flicker of fear in Crowley's eyes and listening to the hitch in the demon's breath. He took a deep breath and then, without much further thought, he leaned in and kissed Crowley, hard.

As soon as they made contact, their lips were smashing together in a rather painful kiss. It was all tongue and teeth, far harsher than Crowley had expected after his previous kiss with Sam. He took it in with a sort of wild fascination that he'd never felt from a kiss before. The fascination, however, was slowly melting into fear and panic. He couldn't go down this road again...

It was so hot, it felt like it was burning Crowley up from the inside, and much as he wanted to break away from Sam, he was finding himself drawn in further. Sam's tongue was so dominating that Crowley never stood a chance at over-powering the soulless beast the man had become in this kiss. Crowley released something resembling a groan from the back of his throat: partly in protest and partly in pleasure. The noise was strange and strangled by the wet appendage that was licking every inch of his mouth, inside, and then out, tracing over Crowley's lips.

Sam's teeth followed his tongue; a harsh bite left Crowley's lower lip throbbing, hot, and bruised. This was going too far. It had to stop before Crowley did something he'd later regret. He gripped Sam's arms, and with all the force he could muster, he pushed the man away, gasping for breath as he watched Sam stumbled back, and bump into his desk, causing the whole structure to rattle just a bit.

Sam panted heavily, trying to slow his breathing down. He watched Crowley closely, seeing an interesting look of frustration on the demon's face, and then, just like that, Crowley vanished, leaving Sam alone to cope with what he'd just done by himself. As Sam let the gravity of what he did sink in, he walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. He licked his lips, tasting Crowley there, and it sent shivers down his spine. When he was able to slow his heart rate and dig around in his mind, he found himself searching for traces of Crowley, but found none. The demon had fled, cutting him off completely. Honestly, Sam really didn't blame him. He wasn't sure why he couldn't control his impulses; if he were Crowley, he probably have vanished himself.

It seemed Sam couldn't help himself around demons. There was this dark hunger lurking just beneath the surface of his skin that took hold of him when he tasted a demon's blood more than once. First Ruby, and now Crowley. He was traveling down this dark path of desire all over again, and this time, there was a baby on board. He rested his hand over his stomach, his body churning with a wave of strange sensations.

This whole situation was starting to get out of control, he needed to reign in his desires. It seemed that without a soul he succumbed much easier to the gnawing, fervent want in his gut. He looked around, taking in the emptiness of the room for a moment, before he headed downstairs, out to the courtyard. He needed some fresh air before Crowley returned; that was not something he was looking forward to.

…

When Crowley vanished, he fled the face of the Earth to escape the soulless shell that had once been Sam Winchester. The man had gotten under Crowley's skin and he was scared, almost nervous, and he knew he needed to get away. He needed to see Sam. The true Sam... He dove down into the caverns of endless screams and into the darkest of depths in Hell. All the souls he passed reached out from their hooks and racks to beg for mercy, for just one moment of reprieve from the eternity of agony. He pulled himself away to a secluded and quieter corner of Hell, passing through walls of flame and into an inner chamber. It was darker than the blackest night; to a human eye, you could not know "up" from "down" in the inky blackness.

In every direction, the darkness went on forever. At the center of the chamber was what appeared to be a small sun. It was an immense ball of burning, twisting white flames, churning and burning the things inside. There were screams and shouts of horror and excruciating pain coming from within. Crowley stepped closer to the swirling, fiery mass and peered inside; all at once, the screaming stopped. Through the ceaseless flames, there were four figures standing in the midst of it all, and they stopped to turn and greet their visitor. These figures Crowley had come to know very well: Sam, Lucifer, Adam, and Michael - two blindingly white visages with hulking wings and two very plain, exhausted looking men.

Tarnished by Hell, the light of the two angels was dimmed enough that Crowley could gaze quite easily upon them unharmed. They were captives inside this burning cage that had been built for them. Lucifer knew this cage well and had once ruled Hell from it with an iron fist, but now, he was more occupied with torturing Sam and Adam Winchester while fighting his own brother for all eternity to care about the demons or governing over them anymore. They may as well have been pet rats. For all he cared, they could starve and eat each other to survive. The four beings were, for the moment, remaining at a standstill. Crowley's arrival had called for their attention, and now that he had it, he stepped right up to the cage, smirking at the angels and shaking his head.

"Hello, Crowley..." came a sickeningly-sweet greeting from the shorter of the angels.

Crowley narrowed his eyes on the ethereal face. He was androgynous, features soft and eyes glowing solid blue with jagged lion-like teeth making his grin fearsome. He was slim and lanky, creamy white skin radiating with its unusual less-than-holy light, with flowing ivory hair down to his waist. He prowled forward like a cat to greet Crowley at the edge of his prison cell.

"Hello, Lucifer... Step aside, please, I'm here to see Sam..." Crowley greeted quietly, his tone sharp and unforgiving. He had no time for the brat who would be the Prince of Darkness.

Lucifer threw his hand up and grinned, shaking his head as he waggled his finger at Crowley and dragged his strangely long and pointed tongue over his teeth. "Oh no... I'm not so sure that's a good idea... Do you think he'll want to see you in your true form, Crowley?"

Crowley furrowed his brows, his eyes widening as he realized what Lucifer was doing. With a wave of his hand, Lucifer wrenched Crowley's whole body up and Crowley gave a scream of agony as suddenly his body was ripped away from him and tossed back to the surface in a cloud of black smoke, leaving the demon exposed in all his dark glory. Crowley's true form was what remained now; a swirling black creature whose skin was constantly shifting and changing, like bottled smoke with luminous milky eyes, pupils slit like a snake's. Protruding from his back was a elongated, curled tail with a sharp hook like a harpoon on the end and a pair of tattered and torn-looking wings. Sweeping up from under black tresses were two long, curved horns. He stood almost nine feet tall now, and Lucifer had to tilt his head to gaze at the true form of the King of Hell. The demon cracked his neck, taking a moment to compose himself. He twitched uncomfortably, though his face showed no features aside from his eyes, he spoke just as clearly as ever.

"Even from within that cage, you still manage to be an irksome little bugger..." Crowley hissed, shaking his head at Lucifer as he glanced past him at Sam's soul where it stood shakily. "Now... step aside..."

Michael - the larger angel - grabbed a weary looking soul - the soul Crowley had come to see - and threw him with great force against the fiery wall of the cage, causing the Winchester to scream in agony. Crowley reached out, his fingers striking the fire and causing him to jerk his hand back and shake it a little as if wringing away the flames that clung briefly. From a crumpled heap in the corner, Crowley saw Adam look on in sympathy at his older brother. The youngest Winchester had done nothing to deserve this hell, and neither had Sam... Crowley shook his head, kneeling down by the edge of the cage to examine Sam closely. Sam was barely moving, just a pile of broken bones beside Lucifer's feet.

"Sam..." Crowley whispered, not sure what more he could possibly say. His pain and sorrow for the hunter carried through the soft tone of his own voice as he spoke the familiar name.

To Sam, the simple greeting was like a breath of fresh air; he closed his eyes, soaking it in for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, looking up, his whole form shook in pain and his eyes watered with bloody tears. "C-C-Crowley... why do you keep coming back...? Why...?" he asked in a weakened state, pressing his hand against the solid wall of flame - the pain of the flames was nothing in comparison to the torture the two angels had managed.

Crowley pressed his own clawed hand against the flames. "I don't have a good answer for that, Sam..."

A broken fragment of what he'd once been, Sam's flesh was being licked by the endless flames. Crowley's heart broke for the man, wishing he could simply pull him through those flames and into his arms to carry him out of Hell and back to the body where he belonged.

"You're not fit to be King of Hell, Crowley. You are still far too human inside to rule... You've spent too much of your life on the surface. Always toying around with some human... Always having some kind of relationship that a demon has no business having... I thought-maybe if I put you under Lilith's care, for a while, you'd learn... but, no... You just laid with her... Fell in love again..." Lucifer mused, dragging out each syllable as he yanked on Sam's soul and - with very little effort - he tore an arm right from its socket, tossing the limb aside where it was consumed by the fire.

Crowley was unable to hide his look of discomfort as he heard Sam's in human scream - it was so pained as his whole form shrank in on itself. Sam tried to get away from Lucifer, but the angel dragged him swiftly backward toward him.

"And since the plan I made with Lilith and Azazel formed, you have always harbored strange feelings for our boy with the demon blood. You have watched him grow up. You watched our plan come to fruition... And I will never know why you fell for this boy before he even knew you. Lilith let you get too close to him... You possessed his friends, his girlfriends... You followed him all over, constantly watching him... Trying to put him on the right path, even though you knew that his destiny could not have been avoided... And when the time came, you were so willing to betray me for him... Why give so much up for one little human?"

"Stop it." Crowley protested feebly, his voice cracking as he watched Sam's arm slowly regenerate, only to have other pieces of him torn off.

Lucifer's words were starting to drown out in the sound of Sam's shrieks of agony. "You became hunted. You gave up everything. For this? This walking, fleshy bag of imperfections? He would have killed you, if given the chance. You know that. And yet it is with him that your loyalties lie? I made you what you are." Lucifer taunted, continuing to tear chunk after chunk of flesh off of Sam's soul while Crowley was helpless to do anything except watch in horror. "I gave you power and jurisdiction over every crossroads demon in creation. I gave you boundless amounts of power, yet you love this thing instead of me?"

Michael and Adam had since turned their back's to the sight. Neither could be bothered to look anymore. This was their eternity; they'd grown used to this same scenario now, but they didn't like it any more than they did when this torture first began.

"Put him down, Lucifer... or I turn up the heat in your little cage..." Crowley warned, though his voice trembled as his past flashed before his eyes. He couldn't help but wondered how all this had happened as every moment of his life since he'd first laid eyes on Sam Winchester echoed in his mind. How had it gotten so out of hand?

"You haven't got the guts. You burn me up, you burn your precious Sammy too..." Lucifer retorted. "I hear that you have the Winchester's shell... I suppose your attempt to bring Sammy back didn't go quite as you planned since he doesn't have his soul... He's quite the character now-a-days isn't he? Heartless and hungry... Not at all like the sensitive little Winchester you've come to-"

Crowley growled fiercely, cutting Lucifer off mid-sentence."You filthy heavenly cast-off how DARE you taunt me! JUST LET SAM GO! Let me take him back!" he demanded, his whole form beginning to swirl beneath the surface of his translucent skin. His smoky appearance was becoming like a tornado, wings flapping open and eyes blazing from white to red. Crowley's whole form trembled, making the chamber rattle in its wake with the ferocity of an earth-shattering quake.

Lucifer merely laughed. He didn't move, just stood there and laughed. "You feel far too much, Crowley...! You need to let go of some of those pesky human emotions...! They're not healthy," he called over the din of Crowley's tantrum.

The noise and shaking came to a sudden halt. Crowley shook his head, closing his eyes as his form sagged. He gritted his teeth, slamming a fist against the flaming barrier of the cage; beams of sparks and lightning flashed and scattered into the infinite nothingness all around, illuminating the abyss.

A soft question came from a blood-choked throat,"Do you wish you could live in those memories forever, Crowley...?"

Looking at him with sad and tired eyes, Crowley lifted his lids slowly to see what was left of Sam's ripped, bloodied soul. "I wish we both could..." he mumbled on a hushed response.

Lucifer snorted, turning his back on them as he headed toward his brother and the younger Winchester, hissing, "Pathetic..."

Suddenly, Crowley found himself slamming back to the surface and into his body, feeling rough pavement against his cheek. He quivered uncontrollably, pushing himself up from the ground and gathered his bearings. He was beneath an overpass; it was nightfall. Cars passed by, causing him to stumble away from the edge of the road as quickly as possible. Crowley sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He shook his head and wiped a hand over his face, knowing what he needed to do.

In the blink of an eye, he was gone again, off to find a temporary solution for his soulless Sam problems, since those were so much simpler to deal with at that moment...

...

As Sam strolled down one of the winding paths in the courtyard, he took in the sweet smell of all the flowers growing there. He felt like one of those fairytale princesses, locked away in a castle away from the rest of the world. The walls around the property were high and covered in creeping vines, the look of it all sending a sort of hopelessness into his bones. Sam was, in reality, a prisoner here. He could handle being a prisoner, but what was hard to handle was that he was finding himself getting hungry.

A little taste of Crowley seemed to have gotten into his veins, and it was just like what he'd felt the first time he drank from Ruby. A charge of energy, a sort of rage-filled arousal that he couldn't contain. He wanted badly to just claw Crowley's clothes off and make him scream like he did to Ruby. Sam chewed on his lower lip, taking a shaky breath and doing his best to simply relax. He took a seat on a bench in the garden and took in the warmth of the sunlight. He spent what felt like all day outside in the courtyard. Sitting in the waning sunlight, wandering through the garden. Sam found that he wanted the pleasant weather to mean more, but it seemed all the good things just stopped at his skin. He couldn't feel the appreciation inside.

As the hours progressed, Sam didn't really think about how much weaker he was getting. He hadn't had any blood since Crowley's, and come evening, Sam found himself collapsing in the courtyard. His head had grown unbearably heavy and his legs became like Jell-o beneath him. They gave out and the grass was rushing up to meet his face. He closed his eyes and let it take over him. He let the discomfort and lightheaded feelings simply wash over him and drag him under, the last thought passing through his mind was where Crowley was.

Sam groaned softly, barely conscious as he felt the strong arms of a demon picking him up from the grass and carrying him inside. Somehow, he had known it was Theo. He gave a shuddering gasp as he tried to speak, protest, and fight to get away. Theo laid him down in the bed.

Despite how badly his head was swimming, Sam could hear voices, he recognized one as Crowley. He'd come back, and that was somewhat of a relief. He felt his body starting to break out into a cold sweat, but, when he felt a warm substance hit his lips, he tingled with relief. Again, Crowley's blood was sliding down his throat and easing his pain, enough to make Sam coherent again.

Desperation seemed to drive Sam's body toward the demon; he curled toward him, reaching out and fumbling for the demon's arm. He grabbed onto Crowley and he held on tight, his grip drawing a funny uncomfortable noise from the demon. Sam kept holding on until he was no longer in pain, his breathing coming in short and hard gasps, and then slowly he let go.

Crowley sat beside Sam as the minutes ticked by, not leaving his presence and simply listening to him breathing quietly. He smiled weakly, wishing Sam could be like this all the time. Weakened and clinging to him like his life depended on it. It was sort of selfish and almost sickening to think, but Crowley sort of liked having Sam completely weak and dependent on him.

As Sam regained his strength, he sat up and met familiar dark-eyed gaze of the demon. As if for the first time, Sam realized the gaze wasn't really dark at all. He saw brilliant colors there; Crowley's eyes weren't black, but hazel. Flecks of green, gold, and brown swirling around in the beautiful pools to make an interesting color. They weren't as full of life anymore, but Sam thought they must have been when Crowley was still alive and human.

Sam felt that desire waking inside him once more. He could feel himself succumbing to it almost immediately. He leaned in, grabbing the back of Crowley's neck - that undeniable urge flowing through him. There was a bit of resistance as he pulled Crowley in to kiss him.

Just before they came together, Crowley turned his head to the side; Sam's lips pressing to Crowley's jaw instead of his lips - much to the man's chagrin. Sam didn't understand why Crowley kept rejecting him. He could feel the desire in Crowley's subconscious; he wanted this too. Sam's jaw clenched as he sat there, in silence, waiting for something. Anything...

It was quiet for a few more minutes, as they stayed like that, soaking in the discomfort of the moment. Crowley got up from the bed not able to take much more contact. He stepped away from Sam, trying to remain calm and steady. The young man wasn't making that easy for him.

Sam wasn't giving up so easy. He was on his feet, closing the distance between he and Crowley in a few short strides. "Why do you keep running away? You want it. I can feel it, and you can't hide that from me..." Sam said coolly.

Crowley looked at Sam sternly; his brow was creased with stress and agitation made his shoulders tense. He looked ready to yell, ready to just jump down Sam's throat. Then suddenly, there was a softness in the way Crowley reached out and pulled Sam closer, gently taking the young man's hands into his own. He swallowed his pride for a moment, sighing softly as his eyes focused on Sam's fingers a while before they moved to meet his eyes. He nodded, admitting rather shamefully, without a single word, that Sam was right; he did want it. Sam would never know just how bad he wanted it either.

Sam rolled his eyes, not impressed with Crowley's tough guy act. "Then what the hell is your problem...?" he demanded incredulously.

Crowley took a breath and looked away from Sam's face, out the window. He watched as it started to rain again, the droplets beginning to spatter against the window, running down the pane. He processed what would be the best way to put what he had to say.

Sam cleared his throat, calling Crowley back to reality and out of his thoughts.

Crowley gazed up at Sam's face, taking a deep breath. "I came to the realization that there are needs that I won't-" he stopped and corrected himself, "can't tend to for you. You have a strange sickly need for something more carnal from demons that I seem unwilling to give. For whatever reason, you seem to crave-things I can't bring myself to give you. However, your needs will be met regardless of whether I can be the one meeting them or not... I've taken care of it. Just... go to your room... leave me be."

Sam examined Crowley's withdrawn expression with narrowed but curious eyes. It was interesting to see the demon looking almost vulnerable. Crowley was avoiding his gaze, and Sam was frustrated with it all. He wanted Crowley. He desperately craved the feel of Crowley's skin. And Crowley was telling him no...

Sam didn't like not getting his way. It didn't sit well with him. "Is this a roundabout way of saying that you'll get me pregnant, but you won't sleep with me?" Sam asked suspiciously, almost amused by the very idea. When Crowley didn't answer, Sam waved the demon away dismissively with a snort of indifference and a shake of his head. "Whatever. Fine. I'll go..."

Crowley winced as Sam purposely bumped into him with his shoulder as he walked past. He could tell Sam hadn't really cared, but was somewhat irked by the fact that Crowley hadn't given in to what he wanted.

Sam walked toward the door, pausing briefly as if waiting for Crowley to suddenly change his mind. When Crowley made no move to stop him, Sam left, snapping the door shut in his wake.

Crowley closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head as he began to unbutton his shirt. He opened his subconscious wide, digging deep into Sam, trying to calm the young man but it seemed Sam was rejecting the sensation.

Sam had no patience for these games right now. He strolled down the hall at a leisurely pace, wondering exactly what he'd find waiting for him in his room. When he pushed the door open, he furrowed his brows at what he found.

Laying there in his bed was a curvy female demon, her long black hair curling gently against her milky white skin. She licked her lips, and her black eyes gazed deep inside Sam's emptiness. Sam glanced down, seeing a Devil's Trap had been painted on the floor where the bed was, binding the demonness to the confined space. He didn't think very long on it before he advanced. In a matter of minutes, he was stripping out of his clothes and climbing over her. He crawled forward onto the bed, taking her rather mercilessly...

And Crowley could feel every last second of each sensation. He felt Sam's pleasure as he pressed into the hot body of the demonness. He laid down in his bed, his body tingling with the pleasure of it. He could feel Sam's body reacting to the slickness of being inside the woman. He almost began to wonder what it must be like to be her, underneath Sam right then.

Through their subconscious bond, Crowley tapped into the feel of it all. As he took everything in, he asked himself why he was torturing himself like this. But that didn't stop the fantasy about what it must feel like to be that demonness, to have Sam's tongue on his skin and to feel the hardness of his muscles pressing against his body. He knew he needed to stop and derail this runaway train of arousing thoughts. He couldn't keep dreaming about Sam like this.

Sam was a tool to be used, and while Crowley did want to take care of him, he knew if he slept with him that was going to be the first steps into falling ever so easily into an infatuation. He didn't want to suffer through something like that, with a man who was ultimately going to leave the moment his time was up. He gave a heady groan, feeling Sam's body shudder with orgasm. He could feel the relief that rushed through Sam's mind and body through their connection, and licked his lips. It felt intensely good... in ways he couldn't possibly express.

The bliss was quickly ended when he felt a sudden jolt in Sam's mind, a sickening sort of snapping hunger that rushed through Sam's subconscious and made Crowley downright dizzy.

Sam finished with the demonness and then bit into her skin like it was nothing, leaving her screaming as he gladly drank from her. He couldn't help himself, drinking from her until he couldn't suck anymore blood from her veins and his stomach was full. He licked his lips and wiped his chin on the back of his hand. He didn't stick around to see what had become of her.

Sam walked with purpose, stark naked, uncaring that he was sticky with fluids and completely unclothed. He sauntered back down the hall, past the staircase to the other side of the home and threw Crowley's door open, startling the demon a bit.

Crowley sat up slowly, warily examining Sam as he leisurely strolled over to the bed. There was something wild in those green eyes that made even this demon nervous. Crowley wrinkled his nose, gritting his teeth as he watched Sam slip under the covers and caught every firm muscle in his body ripple with the movement. This was practically torture. He could smell the woman on Sam, and Sam knew it. This was Sam's revenge. And Crowley had no choice but to suffer through it...


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Dean cleared his throat a little, squaring his shoulders as he and Castiel walked back to where Samuel was being held. It was sort of refreshing to see the older man just sitting behind bars on a cot. Dean wasn't exactly signing up to be in Samuel's fan club any time soon, but they needed information from him. So he supposed it best that he stayed civil (or as civil as he could manage). Castiel seemed very at home in his suit, walking through the building with purpose and an air of superiority. Dean didn't have the time to admire how good that looked to him right then, they were here to work. Samuel looked like hell, his face unshaven and his eyes bloodshot from sleeplessness. Dean cleared his throat a little as they approached the cell, causing the elder man to look up. He laughed wearily, shaking his head.

"Oh great. Dean and Castiel... I'm saved." he grunted, his sarcasm falling on uncaring ears. Dean pursed his lips and tilted his head in a slight shaking motion as he paced in front of the cell.

"Yeah well. When we heard you were in trouble, we just had to come running." Dean quipped, his own sarcasm causing Samuel to roll his eyes in irritation. "So how are you? Are you nice and comfy in your gray little cell?"

Samuel growled lowly, standing up and walking towards the bars with angry intent in each step. Dean laughed and shook his head as Samuel stared him down from the other side of the steel bars. The white paint on them was peeling pathetically, but they still were far more powerful than any man around them. Castiel stepped between Dean and Samuel, seeing that he should likely take the time to intervene.

"We want to know why you were kidnapping a young woman." Castiel stated dryly, getting right to business. Dean nodded in agreement and stepped up beside Castiel, folding his arms over his chest.

Samuel narrowed his eyes in confusion and then he nodded slowly as it dawned on him what they were talking about.

"It wasn't a young woman. She was a demon." Samuel stated quietly. Dean raised a brow and Castiel turned his head, looking at him sharply in a way that continued to catch him off guard even to this day. Samuel watched the two exchange glances before he continued.

"There's been a big time bounty put out on Meg's head. Crowley wants her and any other Lucifer Loyalists. What makes it slightly more difficult is that he wants them alive. I was trying to catch Meg, but she escaped because someone called the damn cops on me." Samuel explained, shaking his head. "I don't know what Crowley wants with them, but I know he wants Meg a great deal more than most."

Dean frowned, wondering to himself just what Crowley could want with Meg. He looked to Samuel with narrowed eyes.

"So you were hunting Meg? For how long?" Dean asked incredulously. Samuel sighed and shook his head.

"Dunno. Six months maybe. He's wanted her for a while now. But it looks like now he wants other demons too. Just about any demon siding with Lucifer. He's even got his own personal goon squad out capturing them now. I don't know if he's killing them, torturing them, eating them. And I really don't give a damn. Demon on demon crime isn't high on my list of priorities."

Castiel nodded sagely and shook his head. He wished his mind still worked like it had when he was an angel. He could work through things so quickly then that he'd have had this puzzling matter solved in a matter of moments. It certainly was perplexing. He gave a soft sigh and looked to Dean.

"You know what we have to do, Dean." Castiel said in a sort of uncomfortable but earnest tone. Dean nodded, carding his fingers through his hair.

"Yeah. We need to find Meg. She's probably got answers." Dean said quietly. Castiel nodded.

"We could simply summon her." Castiel suggested. Samuel laughed.

"Yeah you'd think that wouldn't you? Well it's not that easy now. Some demons, Meg included, have somehow blocked themselves from regular radar and are dodging any summoning spells thrown at them. That's why I followed her trail for six damn months. If it had been as easy as summoning her don't you think I woulda done that first?" Samuel said tersely. Dean turned his head exaggeratedly toward Samuel.

"Thank you, Samuel, for your support and input as always." He said through clenched teeth. Castiel took Dean by his wrist.

"We don't have time for this. We need to go as quickly as we can." He ordered, beginning to drag Dean off.

"Hey! Wait! Aren't you going to help me!" Samuel shouted at the retreating pair.

"No. I don't believe we are." Castiel replied, not giving Dean a chance to add anything before they were out of sight and out of ear shot.

…

Tension, as Crowley and Sam were quickly learning, is one of the easiest things in the world to build up. It festers like an untreated wound, growing itchy, hot, and uncomfortable. The need for some kind of cleansing slowly becomes too much, agitating every injured and irritated nerve ending. Eventually, something must be done to calm the uncontrollable and overwhelming sensations. In their case, that something was just not what Crowley was willing to do. Sam was insistent, he was thinking about it, craving it, every second of every day. Crowley could feel it in Sam's subconscious. It was hard to deny the fact that he too was desiring these things. The trouble of it was, Crowley had a deep seated fear of what could become of giving in and giving Sam what he desperately craved.

Today was another rainy day, the whole world seemed relatively quiet. It was nothing that was uncommon where they lived, though Sam wasn't quite sure of where exactly that was. Sam found himself sitting in the window seat in the parlor, staring out at the rain as it came down in sheets, wind rattling the window panes and rustling through all the trees. His whole body spoke of his tension. No matter how many women Crowley brought for him, his hunger was left unsatisfied and that was beginning to take its toll. He wanted badly to just be inside Crowley, to touch him in ways that exploited just how dark he'd become. The emptiness inside him echoed with all his hungry desires. He groaned just slightly as his mind was consumed with his yearnings again. His thoughts of corrupt and carnal deeds he'd like to commit were interrupted by the clearing of a throat across the room. Sam didn't need to turn towards the sound to know who it belonged to.

"Come to give me another bitch to feed on, Crowley? I must be like a pet to you now. You can keep tossing me bones as long as you want but it won't change anything..." Sam said, his tone icy and sharp against Crowley's ears. Crowley stood there, a sigh leaving his lips as he looked over at Sam, who was putting up a barrier between them that he didn't dare try and cross. The amatory thoughts that were floating through Sam's mind were making it hard for Crowley to concentrate on what he'd come here to say. Yes, he'd brought another demonness for Sam, but now he was regretting it. He took a moment to regain his composure and took a few steps closer to Sam.

"It's been nearly three weeks Sam. Aren't you finished giving me this cold shoulder?" Crowley inquired tightly, his hands tucked into his pockets as he stepped up into Sam's personal space, gazing out the window with him. Sam gave a less than sincere laugh and shook his head.

"Oh. You think this is cold? I can get colder..." came his terse reply, not sparing Crowley any of his patented soulless sass. It seemed the more time Crowley spent with Sam, the more he just wanted to smack the young man as hard as he possibly could across the face. Crowley bit back every poisonous remark he wanted to make and inhaled sharply, then slowly exhaled. It served to calm his nerves.

"Why do I even bother trying with you?" Crowley's brows furrowed and his shoulders sagged a little as he grew too weary to fight Sam anymore. He didn't want to continue their arguing. It wasn't something he enjoyed. It was something he tolerated because he thought it necessary.

"Because you want me." Sam's voice was quiet, and vehemently serious. Crowley let the words soak in and bury themselves deep inside. It was true. Terribly true.

"Why should I sleep with you? Because you want to? Because I want to? Honestly Sam, I don't see the point. In two years time you'll be long gone and I'll have wasted part of myself on something that doesn't give two shakes about me. You wouldn't care if I dropped dead tomorrow so why, I ask, why should I give a toss about what you want today?"

Sam turned to look at Crowley, examining the demon closely, seeing that there was a sort of fear in Crowley's eyes he'd never seen before. He could feel this unsettling sense of abandonment and heart-ache in Crowley's mind. Honestly, the truth was, despite the fact that Crowley was clearly stirring with discontent deep down about something, Sam didn't care to find out what. He still just wanted desperately to have him.

"You probably shouldn't... But you want to. And if you don't give in to what you want, you might regret it when I'm gone. You might ask yourself why you never just gave in and enjoyed me while you had me. When those two years up and I leave, you'll have lost your chance forever." Sam countered, getting up from the window seat to grab Crowley by his shoulders. "Isn't it better to have fucked and lost, then never fucked at all or something like that?"

Crowley rolled his eyes and pushed on Sam's chest, forcing him away.

"Sam... Butchering a good piece of literature isn't going to change my mind." Crowley said with mild irritation at the irksome smirk coming to Sam's features. The strapping and powerful looking man began to back Crowley into the nearest wall, pressing his hand against the cool surface by Crowley's head, aiming to make him feel trapped.

"Maybe I'll just have to work a little harder then... At seducing you..." came his husky retort. Sam leaned in to kiss Crowley, who turned his head away, dodging Sam's lips, allowing Sam the perfect opportunity to begin to kiss at his neck instead. Sam gave a soft and bodily chuckle, the sound causing his hot breath to caress Crowley's neck in ways that felt all too pleasurable. Crowley hissed a little as he felt Sam's tongue snake out and slide up his throat, leaving his skin prickling with goose bumps in it's wake.

"Sam... Don't..." Crowley insisted quietly, his shoulders tensing a little as he placed a hand on Sam's built chest. The way Sam's pectoral flexed under his fingertips sent jolts of menacing longing through him. Sam's body pressed against his and his body began to ache with mouth-watering compulsion. Crowley gave Sam a hard shove, making him stumble back a few paces. Sam's tongue darted over his lips as he looked at Crowley with an intense and almost gluttonous gaze. He looked like he was ready to simply take Crowley whether he liked it or not. Crowley was leaning back against the wall, his knees bent a little as he did his best to keep calm. He looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye as his own itching libido was starting to overwhelm him. The starving beast inside him was growing stronger and soon he wouldn't be able to push aside his fervent cravings. Sam was pressing him to his absolute limits.

Sam's face twisted into an impossibly animalistic grin, and his eyes were darkened with a menacing sort of lust. The desperate demand for a carnal encounter with the soulless being before him was seeping into Crowley's bones, and as he looked into Sam's eyes his resolve was breaking and inside, he was transforming.

"Maybe you're resisting... Because you're scared... Scared you'll like it so much that you'll want to do it again... And again... And again..." Sam taunted, his voice heavy with his thirsty propensity. Crowley's fingers curled into tight fists and his jaw clenched, the muscle visibly flexing with the motion. Sam shivered with anticipation as he felt a dam in Crowley's mind breaking open, and suddenly there was staggering heat plowing through him, he could feel Crowley as if he were all over him, each of his nerves lighting up with gratification. Crowley's eyes were black, gleaming, and Sam's vision began to blur as he felt the demonic aura of the proclaimed 'King of Hell' cascaded over his whole being. He swooned and in that brief moment of weakness, Crowley began to walk away. His feet carried him swiftly out of the room and towards the stairs. Sam had to fight the urge to just collapse in order to follow after, his yearning and rapture were the only things keeping him on his feet in his pursuit of the demon. Crowley was pulling off his tie and tearing off his jacket as he pushed the door open.

Something within him had simply snapped, and he decided he was going to just go with it. Sam was breathing hard, finding Crowley's ambiance was making the whole world spin with new found color and sensation. Sam stumbled into the bedroom to see Crowley already unbuttoning his shirt, his solid black eyes narrowing as he looked at Sam with a new found appetite. He wanted to taste Sam's skin, he wanted to give in to his nature and kiss him until his lips were bruised and he couldn't breathe properly. He had enough sense to know he needed to hold back for the baby's sake, but that didn't stop him from fantasizing about what it would be like to simply man-handle him. Sam's vision was warmed and everything swirled as Crowley's energy continued to light him up. It quickly became apparent that Crowley was in control here.

Sam watched Crowley as the demon stripped off his shirt and then his undershirt, and for the first time, Sam got to lay eyes on Crowley's tattoos. For some reason, the images painted into Crowley's skin sent a new chill down his spine. It was something he found attractive in new and unusual ways. Crowley wasn't concerned with that though; he was more concerned with the fact that Sam was standing there in the door way looking like a dumbfounded fool, with far too many clothes on. Crowley let out a low growl of voracity that made Sam visibly shake, and then lifted his hand. With a few twitches of his fingers, Sam was raising his arms so his shirt, by some invisible force, could be pulled over his head and tossed aside. Sam found himself having to lift his feet as his pants were tugged down with his silken boxers as well. His body was now completely exposed to Crowley's insatiable gaze. Sam was able-bodied, athletic, broad-shouldered, and dense. Every muscle in his body twitched as another harsh tsunami of Crowley's sexual desire poured into him, filling him to the brim with a well-spring of infernal thrills that he could hardly stand for.

Crowley watched with satisfaction as Sam's knees shuddered and almost buckled beneath him under the weight of Crowley's power. Crowley's lips quirked into a sadistic sort of smirk as he mentally caressed every inch of Sam, gazing at the resulting shivers that rattled through Sam's body. Crowley's voice sounded so harsh and no longer restrained as he spoke to Sam.

"This is what you wanted, Sam. You wanted me to let loose on you... I've only just begun to toy with you and you'll learn your lesson soon enough... Do not taunt me... And more importantly... Don't tempt the devil, boy..." Crowley's voice came in a low and rumbling whisper, sort of split into two tones, one that was like an animal growling, and the other like Crowley's deep and husky English accent. Crowley watched Sam visibly crumbling with the overpowering pleasure of Crowley's aura stroking over every sensitive inch of his body while Crowley only needed to twitch his fingers this way and that to make Sam weak kneed. There was the delicious sensation that there was a tongue caressing his manhood in ways Sam had never previously thought possible. There was the rougher feel of teeth dragging over his nipples to accompany it. And then when Crowley's torturous power seemed to be far too much, Sam felt fingers penetrating him. There was no friction, just the burn of being stretched and the press of very real feeling, though invisible, appendages against that sweet bundle of nerves deep inside. Sam dropped to his knees, and let out a wail of desperate pleasure.

"C-Crowley... Please..." Sam gasped between moans as he slumped forward, as if about to fall. Crowley's fingers twitched again and Sam found himself caught by a strong pair of invisible hands on his biceps, and was dragged back up to his knees, suspended. It was like being held captive by many invisible hands and mouths, locked in an intense and undeniably satisfying orgy, but it was just Sam and Crowley. Crowley watched as Sam writhed under his demonic ministrations, every twitch and groan making Crowley's body shiver with desire. His length was straining against his pants, the cloth threatening to chafe him. So he stripped down the rest of the way, leaving himself naked and feeling much more free. He stepped toward Sam with purpose, his fingers twitching a little again, Sam's resulting groan as his head was yanked back by his hair made Crowley's mouth slide into a toothy grin. The wanton way he gazed at Sam made the hunter nervous, but still desiring of more. It was a totally new an unusual experience to be so totally dominated by someone like this. Crowley looked down, tenderly cupping Sam's face in his hands, shaking his head.

"You brought this on yourself Sammy..." he hissed, using his power to toss Sam onto the bed, though not too hard for the sake of his unborn baby. He watched as Sam panted with relief as all of Crowley's invisible bodily sensations fled him in an instant. However, the abandonment of these things, left Sam to deal with something entirely different. Crowley himself was far more imposing than the forces he'd been feeling before. Now he'd feel the hard body of the demon against him. Skin on skin contact, rough and needy kisses, everything he desired. It was finally at his finger tips.

Crowley felt his own body lurching with frightening amounts of lust. He licked his lips slowly as he descended onto the bed and drew the curtains of the canopy. He paused for a moment once they were cast into darkness by the thick curtains, taking a moment to simply listen to Sam's heavy breathing, the thrumming sound of his blood rushing through his veins, and the pound of his heart against his ribcage. It was blessedly human in it's rhytym and served to excite the demon even more. Crowley waited for what felt like an eternity before finally, he descended onto Sam. In a tangle of limbs, he dominated the larger male, his lips crushing themselves against Sam's with a new found mania, his own body shaking with a guttural moan. Sam arched against Crowley's body as they began to sweat in one another's presence. Confined inside the curtains, Cowley could smell Sam's arousal in the air like a thick and hazy perfume that drew him in. Crowley found himself completely caught up in the smoldering passion that was pouring out of him and all over Sam, making the human weak and whimpering like a virgin under his powerful hands. Each touch of his fingers against Sam's skin sent him reeling into another fitful moan. Crowley slid easily between those sweaty thighs, his erection pressing against Sam's rear. Sam's own thick member was rubbing lightly against Crowley's abdomen as the demon slowly ground against him, just taking in the feel of skin on skin. It was so salaciously crude, the way Crowley's cock slid between his cheeks, just grinding against him. Sam wanted more, so much more. He pushed on Crowley, trying to roll them over so he could gain some control, but he found it was like pushing on a brick wall. Crowley didn't even budge. With an urging from his mind, Sam lifted his hands above his head, much against his will, and they were pinned there by Crowley's powerful control over his body. Sam struggled against the constricting sensation, but to no avail. Crowley had him now and intended to make him suffer through every second of lost control. Sam had awakened this monster, called it out of Crowley with his taunting and tempting, and now he'd pay for it.

No pain was spared Sam as Crowley pushed his legs farther apart, leaving the man beneath him completely open, unable to struggle or fight back. Sam could simply tell he was in for the long haul as soon as Crowley drew back and his fingers forced their way into his tight and unlubricated passage. It was hot and the friction drew a ragged groan from Sam's throat. The pain was intense, and he felt like he was tearing from the harsh treatment, but somehow it seemed to only make him hungrier. Sam indulged in the pain, his body arching up. Somehow it was just good to actually be feeling something. He'd felt so empty, so numb, without his soul he was all instinctual desire but it all stopped at his skin, nothing sank in. This pain was like a wake up call, something that brought back meaning, and Crowley could feel Sam's whole body tingling with the realization that he liked it. He wanted to feel it. He wanted to soak in the pain and marvel at the wondrous ability to feel something again.

When Crowley's intentions passed through their subconscious link, Sam felt a ripple of anticipation flush through his body. Sam nodded approval, licking his lips a little.

"Do it... Fuck me bloody... I don't care... I want the pain... Make me feel it..." Sam's voice was almost like a foreign growl as it left him, the tone showing his dark intent. He wanted Crowley to hold nothing back, and he wanted to feel this encounter for days to come. He wanted to ache when he walked and be unable to sit without shifting at the discomfort. He needed to feel this pain because it was filling the harsh emptiness inside him. Crowley's eyes swept over Sam's form as he withdrew his fingers, a sort of childlike fascination in the way he gazed down at Sam who gazed back expectantly. After a moment of consideration, he pushed Sam's legs forcefully apart again, and settled between them. Sam swallowed, his body shaking and his eyes slowly going black as Crowley's demonic aura burst forth in a whole new way, plowing through every barrier in Sam's mind and body, taking it all over, and consuming him. Silently, the dusky whisper echoed in Sam's mind...

Yes... I will make you bleed for me Sam Winchester...

Crowley hunched over Sam's torso, pressing one hand into the plush pillow beside Sam's head, so as to prop himself up while his other hand slid down the hunter's body, taking in the feel of Sam's muscles twitching under his fleeting touch. Then, Crowley's touch turned harsh, he moved his hand over Sam's body again, his fingertips like fire, leaving long trailing burns in his wake. Sam screamed, and writhed, the burning fading into an impossible pleasure, his skin itching with a different kind of ecstasy. Crowley's tongue descended on the wounded flesh, licking it, feeling its heat rising against his mouth. Sam's eyes locked with Crowley's one more time, assuring the demon that this was what he wanted, needed, and craved. Every inch of him cried out for more, more touch, more pain, more attention. Crowley didn't give Sam a chance to change his mind after that, and as he penetrated the young man, a scream tore from his lips, his back arching away from the bed. Just as the scream tore his throat raw, so did Crowley's length rip through Sam's hot, and expectant body. He was given no time to adjust to the burning sensation, before Crowley was pulling back and then slamming right back in again. There was a smidgen of relief for both of them a few thrusts later as both Crowley's length and Sam's passage had begun to bleed. He was ripped open, made raw and bleeding within a matter of moments, and the feel of it all, despite how painful, was overwhelmingly good.

All through the rough and painful treatment Sam was moaning, screaming, and begging for more. The pain had made his manhood wilt, but there was something else in his eyes that showed how badly Sam wanted this. Crowley didn't know what to make of it, and simply took it all in wonderment and soaked in the pain, Sam's blood on his own raw shaft seemed to intensify the connection they had. They became lost in it.

The sound of their bodies connecting faded away and they were caught up in a world inside their minds. The pain was melting away, colors swirled before their eyes, and something between them formed. Something new gripped them tight, wrapped around them, and brought them together as their blood mixed on the bedding and into each other. Fervent and brutal kisses slowly became soft and caring, the hard and wild thrusting drifted into a slow and sensual pace, and as the strange moment of higher connection faded back to the real world, they gasped and moaned together.

Crowley touched and kissed everywhere he'd left a mark on Sam's skin with his burning fingertips moments before, and Sam felt emotion flowing into him from the other man. It was as if in those moments they had truly become one entity, one mind, sharing knowledge and memories and Sam gripped Crowley's shoulders tighter, leaning up to whisper against his neck. He whispered a message that Crowley had desperately needed to hear. Somehow deep down he just knew that he needed to say it for the demon.

"You don't have to be afraid anymore..."

Crowley gave a longing moan, burying his face against Sam's neck, his hips rolling into the hunter at an achingly slow pace. The pain had left a hot and tingling numbness in it wakes, every nerve in Sam's body cried out to Crowley, and images of love since past flashed through Crowley's mind. He could see all of Sam's innermost desires, he could see his struggles with Lucifer, feel his passionate need to protect his brother even when his soul was absent, the desires were still lingering like a residue left behind. Crowley indulged in it, revelling in the sight, the smell, the feel of it all. His lips were parted with heavy and hungry breaths against Sam's neck as he wondered if Sam could see inside him too. If Sam could see the things Crowley had been through, the things he'd loved and lost, the connections he'd bared through his years. Sam's body was writhing beneath him, his strong hands were all over him, and Crowley knew after this moment there was no going back. He and Sam would be tied together like this for an eternity. What once had been just a door between he and Sam that only Crowley had the key too was now an open road stretching between them, something Crowley couldn't control, and part of him didn't want to. He felt the deepening connection - The link slowly becoming a bond. It made his head pound and he felt like he was suddenly full to bursting with so much of this soulless being he was buried inside. He gasped and groaned, his body tingled with the feel of his blood and Sam's mixing like this, it was weird, but wonderful.

Crowley lifted his head and looked into Sam's eyes, a million unspoken needs the demon had were suddenly becoming clearly understood by the hunter and he met Crowley's lips in a kiss. Their lips parted for tongue, a noisy, breathy exploration of each other taking place as one tongue moved over the other, moans and gasps filling the air as their movements had become so quiet in Crowley's slowed pace. As though speaking aloud, a question probed the air around them though it was only heard within their shared mind.

Am I yours, Sam Winchester...?

Sam's body lurched with the pleasure of it all, feeling Crowley's question in every single bit of his being like pleasurable tendrils curling around him. The feel of speaking through this bond was like having wings and being lifted out of the dark coils of reality. Sam wasn't sure if he could ever possibly come down again. He answered back, the effort forced into it making the air leave his lungs in a heavy exhale, his body arching up into Crowley's each point where their skin met warming at the touch in a carnal sort of fiery sensation.

You are mine, Crowley...

Crowley's body grew hotter, and more tense, the moments passing by in a blur of skewed time, fast and slow all at once, and then with a shaky snap of his hips, he pulled out of Sam, unable to take the connection any longer. Sam gave a feeble groan at the suddenly loss. His body going limp against the bedding. Crowley felt his body slowly healing, the blood soaking into his skin and leaving him feeling cold. He felt the road between them still so clearly, as if he were still buried deeply in Sam's bleeding body. He could hear every thought and he could sense that Sam heard his.

"What have I done...?" Crowley asked himself aloud, shaking visibly as his eyes returned to normal and the beast inside him slowly calmed and returned to the dark recesses of his mind. Sam panted, laying spent, despite not getting any release, unmoving on the bedding. He didn't have an answer for the demon. He still wasn't sure what happened. He did know, that now, his mind was steeped in Crowley's feelings, thoughts, and memories in a way that was so much more vivid than before. This was a two way connection, one that Crowley couldn't cut off or block out, though Sam could feel him trying. Inside, Crowley was in turmoil, and Sam felt it all as if it were his own. He'd forgotten how painful emotions were, and these ones were unbridled demonic emotions. He gave a soft whimper, wondering just how Crowley kept all this bottled up inside... It was too much.

"That's a damn good question..." Sam said finally, on a heavy breath. Crowley looked toward Sam and then, without much else to say, he vanished. In Crowley's sudden absence, Sam felt a sickening loneliness. The road between them seemed to stretch out farther than before. He could feel Crowley moving to the ends of the earth in an attempt to escape it, but Sam was mentally right behind him. He could hear Crowley in his head, feel the nervousness in the demons thoughts. He reached out mentally and furrowed his brows, calling Crowley back. He swallowed hard, whispering in his mind 'Come back. Crowley... Don't go... Don't leave... Come back...'

And then, surprisingly, it worked. Sam opened his eyes to see Crowley sitting on the bed beside him, looking baffled. Sam had successfully called him back. Against his will, the demon was dragged through the world backwards like a fish on a hook, right back to the bed. He looked shaken, uncomfortable, and nervous. This was something he had never encountered before. In his many years of being a demon, one thing he'd yet to experience was someone summoning him by sheer will power. He turned his head toward Sam, fear in his eyes and his shoulders tense as he tried to remain calm.

"How the hell did you do that...?" Crowley demanded. Sam took a shaky breath, sitting up a little, reaching out and pulling Crowley into a kiss, helping the demon calm ever so slightly. He took a moment to think and then, he met Crowley's eyes.

"I dunno... But I think I know someone who might..."

…

After a long and sleepless night, Dean and Castiel's motel room was still dark, save for the light of a laptop. It was only minutes before sunrise, and the heavy curtains were blocking any possible light from getting in. Dean and Castiel had left their bed in favor of a sitting in the chairs at the table across the room. Through the acrid smoke of Castiel's sixth smoke this morning, the bluish glow of the computer light was hazy at best. Neither had been able to stay in bed that night, the many questions buzzing in their minds after talking to Samuel having been too troubling for them to rest. Why was Crowley after demons, why was Meg at the top of the list, and where the hell was Sam? Was Sam's disappearence connected somehow? Dean wasn't sure and the weight of not knowing was getting to them both. Castiel's face seemed constantly creased with worry since the moment the younger Winchester disappeared. Castiel had risen first, and now, with blood shot eyes, the fallen on poured over a map, pen in one hand, cigarette in the other while Dean clacked away at the keys of Sam's laptop.

"Looks like... if we follow the string of crime spikes and demonic omens, Meg is headed North East. She clearly doesn't stay in one place long. If she wasn't such a trouble maker I don't think we'd have a chance in finding her. Let alone keeping up. But she's got that distinct pattern of slit throats and robberies..." mused Castiel, looking at all the marks he'd made on the map. Dean nodded, his forehead wrinkling a bit as his brows drew together in a tense scowl. He rubbed the back of his neck as he gave a weary exhale, this whole situation had grown quite overwhelming.

"Yeah she's not exactly subtle is she?" Dean agreed with a loud yawn. "Spikes in murders, break in's, defaced churches... Definitely her calling card... If Samuel could track her, so can we... Let's just try and catch up soon... If Crowley wants her, I wanna to know why..."

Castiel rubbed his fingers against his forehead, massaging away the growing headache, and took a moment to let the events of the past couple weeks really sink in. He wasn't sure what Dean was hoping to find in Meg. The answer, to Castiel, seemed very clear. Crowley was hunting threats to him. Lucifer loyalists. Many demons were still quite loyal to the former ruler of hell, and with Crowley now running the show, they needed to be squashed out. Crowley was a man who believed in self preservation above all else. However, to see Dean hopeful or at the very least focusing on something other than Sam, Castiel would hold his tongue and go through this with him.

"All right well... We can head out whenever you're ready." Castiel announced softly, looking Dean over. Dean's whole form was sagging wearily with the weight of not just the recent events, but his whole life, and the responsibilities that rested on the hunter's shoulders. He had dark circles under his eyes, and Castiel knew he hadn't been sleeping well, considering he was usually woken by Dean's tossing and turning. The Winchester's sleep was growing less and less, maybe four hours a night if they were lucky. Dean looked up from the computer screen again and smiled weakly at Castiel, shaking his head.

"Cas... Stop staring..." he said softly. "I can feel your eyes on me... I can see the worry in you, dude. I'm gonna be fine."

Castiel looked down at the map again, as if on command. He shrugged and folded the map up noisily, just to have something to do other than look at Dean. Dean, and Castiel likewise, had the great ability to read the other's emotions from simple mannerisms and expressions. It was nice sometimes, but other times it could grow irksome and irritating.

"Well... We should... Get going. I'm going to go check us out... You... Pack the car."

Castiel's voice was practically a whisper as he rose from his seat and grabbed his jean jacket on his way to the door. Dean watched Castiel leave the room, flinching a little as the door slammed behind him. Castiel's irritation with Dean was nothing new, but it didn't bother the hunter any less.

"Yeah. I love you too, dick." Dean muttered under his breath as he got up and started packing their things for the journey that did lie ahead.

…

Crowley smirked a little as he stepped through the slightly ajar pocket door of Bobby's kitchen and into the study where Bobby was snoring quietly, his cheek resting against the dusty pages of one of his many lore books. His fingers were loosely curled around a half empty glass of his very cheap and disgusting rot-gut whisky. Bobby seemed almost peaceful in his snoozing. Such a shame that Crowley would have to wake the man from his slumber. The demon quietly stepped up beside Bobby's sleeping form and bent over, his lips only centimeters from the man's ear.

"Rise and shine princess!"

Bobby inhaled sharply, clearly startled, and his head shot up from the book. He reached as quickly as his sleepy reflexes would allow for his gun, but as soon as it was pointed in what would have been the right direction, Crowley had vanished, and reappeared on the other side of the room. Bobby gave a frustrated sigh and turned toward the demon, setting his gun back down on the desk in a gesture that almost read 'Oh it's just you again.' and a look of sheer disgust and irritation on his face.

"To what do I owe this visit?" he asked gruffly, accentuating his words in mock politeness, giving the demon who was leaned casually against the door frame of the kitchen, his hands tucked snugly in the pockets of his slacks, a very hard glare.

"Well, Bobby, my old chum. It would appear that I am in need of your special skill sets." Crowley mused, his mind flickering to Sam briefly, the connection between them making it impossible not to think about him almost constantly. He could feel Sam listening in on their conversation, like he was a spirit hanging over his shoulder. It was strange to feel like he had no privacy whatsoever, even his own mind, thoughts, and memories were bared for Sam to see. It made him more than uncomfortable.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" Bobby asked harshly, standing up and stepping around to the front of his desk, leaning against it and folding his arms across his chest and crossing one leg over the other. Crowley swirled the question around in his mind, debating briefly on a joking insult in response, before Sam's subconscious pressed him to just get to the point. Crowley swallowed back his pride and reluctantly did as Sam's thoughts urged.

"I need you to look into some things for me... You know. Do some research." Crowley explained slowly, gesturing toward Bobby and then the books all around him. Bobby frowned and snorted at Crowley, scoffing a bit at the very idea of doing anything to help the demon after all they'd gone through.

"And why... pray tell... would I do that?" Bobby replied with a slight sneer, meeting Crowley's aloof snarkiness with his own. Two could play at this game.

"Because , Bobby old boy, I know where Sam is..." Crowley replied quietly, staying completely clam, despite the fact that he could feel Sam flaring up a little at even being mentioned. He didn't want Bobby to know where he was. Crowley knew this. However, as Crowley had hoped, Bobby's attention was immediately more focused on him.

"Where is he?" Bobby demanded. Crowley tutted softly and shook his head.

"On no Bobby. You don't get a scrap of information from me, until you get the information I need..." Crowley responded. Bobby tensed and set his jaw, the room going rigidly silent.

"Fine. I get this information for you, and you tell me where Sam is." Bobby stated.

"Sounds like a deal. Shall we kiss on it?"

Bobby gave Crowley an intense glare and Crowley chuckled softly.

"No? Okay. Your loss." Crowley said flippantly. "Now. I need you to find out what could possibly create a bond between a human and a demon so powerful that they could hear one another's thoughts... And the human could even go so far as mentally summon the demon to him..." Crowley explained softly.

"That doesn't sound like anything I've ever heard of before." he said softly, scratching at his beard. "So... A telepathic bond that's so strong the human can mentally summon the demon and they can hear each other's thoughts..."

Crowley nodded.

"Yes. It's a mental doorway between the two minds that can't be shut." Crowley said softly. "Every dream, every thought, every memory is just bared and open for viewing..."

Bobby furrowed his brows.

"Any idea about what may have caused this bond?" Bobby asked.

"One night of passionate, gratuitous, and bloody love making." Crowley responded with an uncomfortable twitch as he thought back to the previous evening. Sam's own mind seemed to stir uneasily but hungrily at the thought of it. Bobby narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

"What?" asked the man.

"Do you need me to draw you a diagram, big boy? Or can you just draw your own conclusions from the clues I've given you?" Crowley responded with condescension and some exasperation, not wanting to discuss this any longer, feeling Sam's hunger intensifying as each minute passed.

"Oh, no. I think I got it. I'm just trying to wrap my mind around the idea of anyone being able to stifle the urge to vomit long enough to have sex with you." Bobby quipped as he watched the demon tense up a bit. Crowley snorted in response.

"You'd be surprised at just who is begging to have sex with me these days, Bobby. Now. I'll be back in a couple of hours to see what you've found out."

"Right." Bobby replied, turning and pulling one of his lore books off the shelf. When he turned back around, Crowley was gone.

…

Dean's knuckles were white against the steering wheel, his fingers were gripping so tightly. Castiel had sat in stony silence beside him for the past hundred miles and he was growing more and more uncomfortable. He couldn't resist the call of some kind of drug to calm his nerves. He had a little bottle of pills that were calling his name from the glove compartment... Or there was some weed in his jacket pocket... He chewed the side of his tongue uneasily, the need to get high becoming almost overwhelming.

Dean often worried about him when he'd get high but he could help himself. He needed it to cope. Castiel closed his eyes and sighed a little as he tried to just doze off. Dean could sense the way Castiel was feeling, and he felt bad for the fallen one. It seemed like just yesterday Dean had watched Castiel fall, and now here they were.

Dean chewed his lower lip and thought back to that night...

Dean was almost always alone in those days. Sam was lost in the abyss to him, and hunting was all Dean had left. He'd tried the apple pie life for a month, one month was all he could take. He felt out of place. So he apologized to Lisa, and then moved on with his life, promising himself that he'd never look back. Dean had been craving a quiet night. He'd been having a hard time sleeping and that night he felt would be no exception. He had been physically exhausted and for the most part, he's just planned on lounging about and doing nothing. Maybe watch some Casa Erotica on pay-per-view. His plans to relax had been going so well, until something like a falling star streaked out of the sky and landed with an earth shattering crash, shaking the very foundation of the hotel he was staying in. By pure instinct Dean was outside in a matter of seconds, bolting out the door toward the shallow crater that had formed in the cracked concrete, where he found the familiar trench coat wearing angel sprawled in a heap among the rubble. A thousand different emotions had washed over Dean at once as he saw just who had fallen from the sky. Dean could remember those feelings all too well. Rage, fear, irritation, caring, panic, and then... He felt love and hope...

Dean had scampered to the angels side and pulled him up to his chest, calling to him.

"Cas! Cas talk to me!"

He had been panicking. The very sight of Castiel had brought up haunting old feelings from the previous year when the angel had left without much of a goodbye. People were beginning to poke their heads out of their rooms to see just what had occurred, but Dean had been too concerned with the seemingly lifeless angel in his arms. Castiel had been breathing, his eyes flicking about under closed lids, and his body had trembled like a shaking leaf in a hurricane. Dean had seen blood on the angel, and his heart had broken for him.

And then... Another being had appeared in that parking lot.

"Step away, Winchester."

The voice had been so cold and familiar that Dean hadn't needed to look up to know who it belonged to. He had looked up with fire in his eyes, ready to chew this dick with wings a new one.

"Raphael... You did this!"

Dean had barked so accusingly, not caring about the growing audience, or the dangers of angering his old enemy archangel. Raphael had simply tossed Dean aside like a rag doll anyways, and then bent down, digging his fingers into Castiel's chest. Castiel had suddenly become wide awake, and he'd opened his mouth, a familiar screeching pitch ripping from his throat. Dean had covered his ears almost immediately when he heard it begin, the sound causing him pain. A blinding what light had emanated from every pore on Castiel's body, and Dean had shut his eyes, feeling completely helpless to do anything in that moment. He kicked himself every day since for not trying harder to do something. The hand print on his arm had burned hot and he'd given a startled cry at the feel of it, and then all at once, everything had stopped. Dean had slowly opened his eyes, seeing that Raphael was gone, and some of the onlookers were beginning to panic. Dean hadn't cared about any of the chaos. He'd pushed himself off the ground and stumbled over to Castiel. He'd carried the fallen angel to safety, and from that night onward, Castiel was human. Raphael had physically torn the grace from Castiel's body and left him to die.

So Dean could understand Castiel's need for drugs. He knew that the fallen one merely craved an escape to a more euphoric state. He'd lost everything and now was just as human as Dean was, and that was slowly killing him inside. Dean couldn't begin to imagine what that felt like... To be so powerful, so strong and all knowing... And then to have it taken away...

"DEAN!"

Dean was suddenly ripped out of his thoughts and found himself slamming on his breaks, Castiel's hand gripping his forearm tightly as they came skidding to a halt. Dean's eyes were focused on the figure in the road in front of them, the foggy daylight shining down on the dark haired woman in the road. She was smirking and laughing at them.

"Meg..." Dean growled under his breath. The demon waved at them with a laugh.

"Hello boys! Fancy meetin' you here!" she shouted. Dean looked from Castiel to the demon in the road, and then back. Castiel's throat was tight and as he swallowed it felt like sandpaper. The very demon they'd set out to find clearly had known they were coming to follow.

"Dean... She knew somehow... She knew we were following her..." Castiel whispered, his fingers tightening on Dean's forearm in his apprehension. She laughed again quite tauntingly at the befuddled pair inside the car.

"Let's see how long you can keep up the chase!" Meg called out to them blowing a kiss and waving before she vanished into thin air. He abruptness left the two occupants of the Impala stunned and shaken.

"Should we keep looking for her...?" Castiel asked softly, Dean's expression scaring him a little. There was a look of deep rage in his eyes as he stared at the empty road in front of them. A thousand unspoken threats and promises directed at Meg passed through the hunters mind and showed plainly on his face for Castiel to see.

"Yes." he insisted firmly, despite the look of worry and caution in his lover's eyes. Dean was on the hunt now, and he was not about to stop.

…

Crowley's arrival was late in the evening, and it didn't startle Bobby much, but he hated the way the demon just appeared and invaded his home as if he owned the place. Bobby was seated behind his desk, sipping at a beer with his lore books spread out over his desk when Crowley showed up to see just what the man had dug up. Crowley appeared at Bobby's side, his hands tucked neatly into his pockets, his chest puffed out slightly. Bobby glanced up out of his peripheral and sighed.

"So what have you found out?" Crowley inquired quietly, his patience growing thin as his mind was weary from tussling with Sam all day whilst he toiled away the hours dealing with demons making deal and Lucifer loyalists in hell. His whole demeanor spoke of his exhaustion, and Bobby knew that the demon was not in any moo to banter anymore. Had Bobby not developed something of a healthy hate for the demon, he'd have felt a bit bad for him. Even if he'd helped them in their hours of need during the apocalypse in his own way, Crowley was still a pain in his ass. Bobby rubbed his chin as he looked over his lorebook.

"Well. I have a theory, but answer me this first... Did this demon and human mix their blood or press open wounds together or somethin' like that?"

Crowley licked his lips nervously and narrowed his eyes.

"Yes." he said after a long pause, making Bobby sigh once more.

"Then you've got what looks like a case of blood bonding. It's something that Pagans and Secret societies have used for centuries to bind together soul mates. When the blood mixes and there is an essence of passion, dedication, love, intense lust, or pure compatibility decided upon by the fates, two people can be bound together in a Blood Bond, in which their connection deepens to the point that they can't hide anything, not even their thoughts from each other." Bobby said quietly as he gestured to the open pages of his books. Crowley winkled his nose and looked over Bobby's shoulder.

"Blood Bonding? Is there a way to undo it then?" Crowley inquired, trying not to sound too eager to cut his ties with Sam, who was still stirring rather uneasily and whispering in his mind to press for more information.

"Death." Bobby replied flatly. "One of them has to die in order for the bond to be broken."

Crowley felt his throat tighten as the words sank in. He was fairly stuck like this then... That wasn't something he'd call good news.

"Now... Where the hell is Sam? We had a deal." Bobby demanded. Crowley slowly withdrew from his own thoughts and looked at Bobby.

"Should have kissed on it Bobby." Crowley said quietly, winking before he vanished into thin air, leaving a frustrated hunter behind.


End file.
